


Leaves That Are Green

by NyxEtoile, OlivesAwl



Series: Somewhere They Can't Find Me [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Domestic, F/M, Fluff, Healing, Italy, Nature, New Beginnings, Smut, So Married
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2014-10-27
Packaged: 2018-02-17 04:26:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2296571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NyxEtoile/pseuds/NyxEtoile, https://archiveofourown.org/users/OlivesAwl/pseuds/OlivesAwl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Everywhere else they'd lived, everything else they'd bought or rented, had been as temporary as could be. Nothing that they couldn't quickly sell, or quickly walk away from. Bought and sold for cash with as little paperwork as possible. Now they had a mortgage and investment accounts and all sorts of paper trails. They were regular people.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>Regular people living in a “charming” old house with plumbing that seemed to have not been updated since construction—at least given how frequently the hot water gave out.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the last (planned) story in the Somewhere They Can't Find Me series. We hope you enjoy the life we carved out for our couple.
> 
> Will publish on Fridays.

_April_

When Nat and Clint had decided to live small and avoid trouble in Rome she'd pictured living in an exclusive penthouse. It would have a view of something famous. The Spanish Steps or the Colosseum. They'd spend their days sipping strong coffee at cafes or walking hand in hand down to the shops where old Italian men would flirt with her shamelessly. She'd learn to make pasta from scratch and have a pot of bolognese on the stove from Saturday morning till dinner on Sunday. 

She had not pictured a sprawling, six-bedroom villa under constant construction and a few acres of orchards spilling down the Italian countryside. But, for some reason, when they'd stepped out of the car with their very reluctant real estate agent and had seen the run down villa and overgrown trees, they'd both known this was where they wanted to be. 

Clint proclaimed it an excellent use of his gold bars. 

Everywhere else they'd lived, everything else they'd bought or rented, had been as temporary as could be. Nothing that they couldn't quickly sell, or quickly walk away from. Bought and sold for cash with as little paperwork as possible. Now they had a mortgage and investment accounts and all sorts of paper trails. They were regular people.

Regular people living in a “charming” old house with plumbing that seemed to have not been updated since construction—at least given how frequently the hot water gave out. Nat sighed and turn off the shower, which was clearly not getting above chilly. She got dressed and went down to the terrifying basement to find Clint crouched down and peering under the water heater. "I don't understand why this pilot light won't stay lit," he said, clearly sensing her behind him.

"Have you given any serious consideration to gremlins?" she asked him, walking over to hunker next to him. She knew next to nothing about pilot lights and home improvement. They'd come to an agreement when they first moved in. Inside was Clint's problem; outside was hers. She now knew far more about soil acidity then she'd ever thought she would, but didn't know a p-trap from an aerator.

"I lit it again," he said, straightening slowly. "You should have hot water in an hour or so." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Maybe I should get one of those tankless ones."

"I hear good things about those." Which was actually true. She mostly heard those good things from him, of course.

They headed back up to the main floor and he followed her to the kitchen. It had been their first priority, getting the kitchen set up properly. Once the tile had been laid and the plumbing finished Clint had surprised her with a six burner stove that was really far too nice for her meager skills. But it had been another sign of permanence. Of planning.

She dug coffee out of the cupboard and started filling the pot. "What's on the agenda today?"

"Grout in in the upstairs guest bath, and plaster in the hallway," he replied, a rather stubborn look on his face. She didn't understand his desire to save that plaster. Drywall would be much easier. He had a soft spot for fixing things that didn't seem savable.

She dug eggs and bacon out of the fridge and loaded up the toaster with bread. "I'll be in the east orchard. I need to finish pruning the nut trees. If I have time afterwards I'll work on the house garden." Location updates was a habit left over from the days when there were just as likely to be in different countries as different rooms. Now, though, it made her feel warm and content. She'd worried that life out here like this would wear on them, make them bored. But they'd taken to their hobbies with an ease that surprised her. 

The coffee beeped and Clint moved to pour them both a mug, sweetening hers without being asked. They moved around each other in the kitchen like dancers, moving to the new rhythm of their lives.

"I noticed some things out there flowered. Is that orchard actually going to produce food?"

"The olives, definitely. Gabriele from next door came over the other day and took a look and he says I'll have a good crop." One of the first things she'd done was bring a plate of cookies over to their nearest neighbor. Gabriele Binasco was a third generation olive farmer. He had been delighted to hear new people were moving in and planned to work the orchards. She'd been leaning on him for advice ever since. "We're less certain on the nuts, they can be finicky. But the fruit trees that avoided the rot should start flowering soon, too." She poked her bacon before turning back to the eggs. "Next month he's going to introduce me to a couple of olive buyers. I'm not up for making my own oil yet."

"So then we are officially. . . farmers." He sounded very amused by that.

"I would wait until our first crop before changing your business card. But yes. We are producers of food."

He laughed. "Would anyone believe us?"

Nat was fairly certain there was all kings of things about their life that no one would believe. She put two plates of bacon, eggs and toast dripping with butter on their table and sat across from him. "I think we should send some olives to the Tower. Just to confuse everyone."

"Seems like a world away." She watched him shove eggs in his mouth. "We should get some chickens."

She choked on her coffee. "Way to embrace the farmer thing, honey."

"The egg lady at the market down the street was trying to sell me on it yesterday. I think she has extra hens. Admit it, these are better than the ones from the grocery store." There was a farmer’s market up the road that sold all sorts of local organic produce. She could probably sell some of her olives and nuts up there if she really wanted to. Maybe they'd even get some lemons coming in soon. 

Not the figs, though. She was hoarding any figs she got.

"You just want to build a chicken coop," she accused, sopping up egg yolk with her toast. When she glanced up Clint's vaguely guilty expression confirmed it. She sighed, feeling an odd wave of affection for him. "Fine. If you build it, I will get chickens."

"I love you. And I will demonstrate by purchasing a new water heater so you can have reliable hot water, even though I still think I could probably fix the old one." 

"See, this is what marriage is about. Compromise." He stood and she lifted her head to accept a kiss. "I love you. Good luck with the plaster."

*

Halfway through the Great Chicken Coop Project, Clint had begun to wish he'd bought a nail gun. He generally preferred doing things the old-fashioned way. It allowed for the sort of care and quality his very precise nature required. But driving nails was growing old.

He hung the hammer on his tool belt and squinted down at the orchard, contemplating seeing if he could get Natasha to come up for a lunch break. And perhaps other things. The one thing he really missed about Venezuela was her morning beach reading. They were busier during the daylight hours now.

But then he flexed his surprisingly sore hands and thought better of it. He fished out his phone and texted her, _Lunch? Just lunch._

The response came a few moment later. _Really just lunch? Or I-can't-walk-right just lunch?_

_Lunch. Unless you want to do all the work._ It took him way too long just type that. Time to buy a nail gun.

_I could arrange that. I could tie you up. I'm on my way._

He grinned at his phone. He adored his wife.

Out front, he heard tires in the drive.

To the best of his knowledge, they weren't expecting anyone. Their neighbor visited Nat sometimes to talk about the trees, but never drove up, just cut through the yards. Clint touched the knife on his belt out of instinct, heading around the side of the house. There were guns peppered throughout the house, though not as many as there once would have been. They no longer courted danger, but they both had pasts that might someday catch up. A lifetime of paranoia was impossible to set aside.

He came around the corner to see a red Fiat with rental stickers pulling up in front of the house. The engine cut off and Steve Rogers slipped out of the driver's seat.

Clint found himself smiling, aborted nooner or not. Nat had sent out an email tell their friends where they'd settled, and inviting them to stop by if ever in Italy. He'd kind of assumed they would call first, but he was happy to see Steve. It had been a long time. 

Steve lifted a hand when he saw him, his smile a little strained. "Wasn't sure I had the right place."

"We don't show up on Google Maps properly. I don't know why." Steve was uneasy, so it made Clint uneasy. But he had no idea why. He held out his hand when Steve reached him. "It's really good to see you, man."

The smile relaxed at that and he took Clint's hand. "You, too. You look good. Is Nat around?"

"She's on her way in from the orchard. We were just about to have lunch. Come on in," he said, turning to walk towards the house. 

"Um." Something in Steve's voice stopped him cold. "I'm not alone."

He turned back towards the car, and noticed a person in the passenger seat. Funny he'd missed that. Maybe he was losing his edge. "Okay. What's going on?"

"Clint?" Nat's voice came from the side of the house. She appeared a moment later and grinned widely. "Steve?! Holy shit. How-" She stopped, looking at the car. She, apparently, had not lost her edge. She looked back at Steve, smile fading. "Seriously?" she asked, sounding both pissed and amused.

Clint looked from one to the other. "Who is that?"

"The Winter Soldier," Nat said.

"His name is Bucky," Steve corrected quietly. Nat pinned him with a look and he added, "I need your help."

"He shot her," Clint felt compelled to point out. "Twice."

"I know. But it wasn't him. Not really. I just. . .I thought-"

"Oh for God’s sake. Let him out of the car, at least," Nat said. "I have a feeling this discussion requires alcohol."

Steve turned to walk back to the car. Clint turned to his back was to the car. "Natasha," he said quietly.

"I know, I know. But how many people did I shoot under orders that I never would have?" She touched his arm. "There's three of us and I'm sure he's unarmed. Steve's our friend, let's hear him out."

"All right. I'll go get some of the good vodka out of the cellar."

She went on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. "Thank you."

Steve walked up to them, his friend just behind him. The other man had a blank, almost dead look on his face, shoulders hunched protectively. Clint remembered Nat looking like that once in a while, when she'd first come to SHIELD. He eyed Nat and Clint cautiously. 

Nat stepped closer and spoke to him in Russian, getting a faint flicker of reaction. He glanced out at the trees, then nodded and started walking towards the orchard, hands shoved in his pockets. 

"What did you say to him?" Steve asked, watching him go.

"I said we were about to talk about him and he could either come in and have lunch and listen, or go for a walk in the orchard." She turned and headed into the house. "Choices are important."

She took Steve into the house, and he went downstairs to get his vodka. They were sitting in the family room off the kitchen, one of their more fully furnished rooms. He brought three glasses over and set them on the wood coffee table. He poured, and sank onto the couch next to Nat. The two of them looked at Steve expectantly.

The old soldier took his glass and leaned back in his chair, but didn't drink, just held it. "I found Bucky a couple months ago. He'd been tracking down Hydra agents. Trying to get answers about what had been done to him. I convinced him to stop. To come home with me. I thought - I thought I could help remind him who he was. Sam tried to work with him, too. He has experience with PTSD. But -" He trailed off, looking away. 

"But this isn't like any PTSD he's ever seen?" Nat offered gently.

"No. Apparently brainwashing and mind control is a different animal." He looked up. "Coulson thought the only people who'd actually seen something like this were. . . the two of you."

Nat looked over at Clint and he instinctively reached out and put a hand on her back, rubbing lightly. She smiled faintly and looked back at Steve. "He won't ever be the Bucky you knew again. You can't unwind the last seventy years."

"Can I help him be. . .happy? Live some kind of life?"

She looked over again and smiled. "It is possible." She cleared her throat and sipped her vodka. "Give us a minute, Steve." He nodded and stood, walking to the kitchen. "What do you think?" she asked quietly.

Clint sighed. "On the one hand, he shot you twice. On the other hand. . . I helped enable an alien invasion and blew up a helicarrier." 

Her hand covered his knee, light but comforting. "I looked at him and I just saw myself. He's been made and unmade as often as I was." She squeezed his leg gently. "We probably are the best people to help him."

"Do you think we can? Neither of us have any training or. . ." He shrugged. "Is experience enough?"

"It's something. We understand him. We can accept him for what he is. We don't have any expectations of him, the way Steve does. I don't think it'll be any _fun_ but. . .We can put him to work here. Give him things to do with his hands. It helped you."

"The quiet helped, too. No eyes. No expectations." He put his hand over hers. "All right."

She studied him. "You're sure?"

"We have more space than we know what to do with." He flexed his hand. "I bet he's good at hammering things."

That earned him a little laugh and she leaned over and kissed him softly. "All right. Go tell Steve. I'll track down our new house guest."

He watched her go, and then made his way into the kitchen. Steve was fiddling with the dials on the stove. "Nat's going to invite him to stay with us."

Steve looked up, surprise obvious on his face. "I - Thank you. Thank you so much."

Clint nodded. "After. . .Loki, I found the concern and curiosity and scrutiny coming from everyone—even Natasha—was too much to handle. It's why I bugged out."

The other man looked around, glancing out the window at the sprawling orchard. "It does seem very peaceful here." He looked back at Clint. "Do you think I'll be a help or a hindrance?"

"Stay a bit. Let him get settled. But I'm thinking he may need some space without expectations."

Steve nodded. "I'll go grab our bags."

Clint watched him go. Now he had to go figure out where they'd sleep. They had plenty of rooms, but most of them were awaiting renovations.

*

Nat picked her way through the orchard, listening for the soldier as much as looking. She found him inspecting her cherry trees. She made sure to step on a stick as she got close, so there was no chance of startling him.

"They're sour," he said, not turning to look at her.

"I'm told they're good for pies." He didn't respond. She stopped a few feet away, balanced for a fight. "Did Steve tell you why he was bringing you here?"

Now he did glance her way. "He said they did to you what they did to me. Black Widow program."

She nodded. "You're welcome to stay here. We'll do what we can to help you process it all. If you want."

"Steve wants me to stay?"

He sounded so lost and she felt another pang for him. She remembered her first days in SHIELD. Being allowed to chose, to make mistakes. To breathe easy. It had taken forever to get used to it. To not look for someone to tell her what to do. "What do you want?" she asked.

He contemplated her a moment, then looked back at the trees. "I want lunch," he said finally. He looked at her from the corner of his eye. "You mentioned it earlier."

She felt herself smile a little. "Well. That's a start. Come on." She turned and headed towards the house. Combat training told her not to put her back to him. Instinct told her he needed her to.

He followed behind her, but didn't invade her space. Up at the house, the kitchen was empty, though she could hear thumping and banging upstairs. Clint probably drafted Steve into helping him get rooms ready. Perhaps deliberately giving her and their new guest some space.

Right. Lunch. Bucky was still hovering, wearing his heavy coat. "You can get comfortable," she told him, heading for the fridge to cobble food together. She listened to him shrug the coat off, then the scrape of a chair on the tile. "What should we call you?"

"Steve calls me Bucky. I like it," he added before she could prod him again.

She nodded. "I'm Nat."

"Natasha Romanov. The Black Widow." He frowned. "Someone was looking for you. Or someone you had. It was in the rain."

So the wipes didn't entirely clear everything. Good to know. That meant more memories would come, most of them bad. But it likely also meant that the original memories were in there somewhere. "Yes. I protected him and you shot through me." She turned slightly and lifted her shirt, showing him the scar, now hidden in the lines of a tattoo. She turned back to the fridge, pulling out leftover soup and sandwich fixings. "That was the first time we met."

"I'm sorry I shot you," he said, sounding surprised by his own sincerity.

She hid a smile."I forgive you," she said with equal sincerity. Probably not the right time to mention the shoulder. She set out a plate, bread, meat, veggies and condiments. "Come make a sandwich while I heat up the soup."

That got her a little bit of a smile. "Do I know how to make a sandwich? I guess I must."

She held out a butter knife and gave him a real smile. "Time to find out."

They had two awkwardly made sandwiches on the counter and he was in the middle of making the third when Steve and Clint came downstairs. "We have two rooms clear," Clint said. "I'll go into town and get some air mattresses."

"I told him we could sleep on the floor," Steve said.

Clint rolled his eyes. "I told him we weren't that terrible of hosts." Nat noticed Bucky was looking at him in a distant, calculating sort of way. Clearly Clint noticed, too. He came slowly around the island to stand behind Nat.

"Don't make me take the butter knife away, Bucky," she said lightly, watching him.

He seemed to give himself a little shake and put the knife down on the counter. "Sorry. I - Habit."

"I'm kind of pleased I still set off someone's dangerous radar, even unarmed." He leaned past her and held out a hand. "Clint Barton."

Bucky shook it cautiously, as if unfamiliar with the action. "Bucky. You have a knife, a wire cutter, a claw hammer and ten or fifteen nails."

Clint smiled fully. "Touché."

"Oh, this is going to be so much fun," Nat said under her breath. She leaned back to kiss Clint's cheek. "Have lunch before you go to town. Bucky is perfecting his sandwich making skills."

He reached over and picked up one of the sandwiches, taking a bite and nodding in approval. Clint was the polar opposite of a picky eater, but his enthusiasm seemed to please Bucky.

Steve had watched all of this silently and now wore an expression somewhere between wonder and relief. Without a word she offered him his own knife and he took a spot at the counter next to Bucky, helping add to the pile. A few minutes later they were all seated at their little kitchen table. Steve kept up the majority of the conversation, catching them up on the goings on back home. Nat glanced at Bucky a few times to find him watching and listening, surprisingly untense. Based on his two bowls of soup and three sandwiches their grocery bill was going to skyrocket.

After the meal, Clint stood up and said he'd go get the air mattresses. "We really can sleep on the floor," Steve protested.

From the other end of the table, rather hesitantly, Bucky said, "I would like a mattress."

Steve looked startled but Nat grinned widely, standing to clear the dishes. "Get spare sheets, too," she told Clint. "And pillows," she added over her shoulder, heading for the sink.

"I was going to get bedding," he said, sounding vaguely offended.

"Sometimes you get singleminded and forget peripheries." He didn't reply to that, just kissed the top of her head and picked up the car keys.

After the engine fired up outside, Steve looked over at her. "You look happy."

She smiled at him. "I am. We are. It's not ever what I thought I wanted out of life. Nothing I would have even dreamed I could have. But it's great."

"We still miss you, you know."

"We miss you all, too," she said honestly. "It'll be nice to have you here."

"You gonna find some Italian farm maid to try and set me up with?"

She grinned. "Depends on how long you stay. There's a woman down the road who sells eggs. Her daughter's easy on the eyes, doesn't speak a word of English. Though that could be a plus or minus."

She watched Steve duck his head and blush. Some things never changed. Behind him, she could see Bucky watching her tease him, the faint smile back on his face. When he caught her looking it widened a little. She winked at him before turning back to the dishes. Maybe this would be sort of fun.


	2. Chapter 2

Building projects went much faster when you had two super soldiers helping you. The chicken coop was finished and painted in two days with Steve and Bucky doing most of the hammering. Nat took Steve to go get the hens and buy supplies and groceries. She claimed she wanted his help carrying heavy bags of feed. Clint was pretty sure she was hoping to embarrass him in front of the Egg Lady's daughter.

This left Clint alone with Bucky for the afternoon. So he took him upstairs and showed him how to repair plaster, a tedious and labor intensive project. Nat tended to roll her eyes and mutter about drywall but Bucky seemed perfectly content to sit there and carefully lay mesh and trowel on new plaster.

He seemed very precise, which Clint liked. His work was excellent. "You've done this before?"

He was quiet a moment, inspecting the edges of the patch he was working on. "I think my father did this," he said finally. "Built things."

"My father built things," Clint replied. "Pretty well, when he was sober. Which, granted, wasn't often."

"I don't remember if he drank. He was serious. Stiff." Bucky scraped a bit of extra plaster off, smoothing the edges. "My mother was the funny one. She would tease him so he'd smile. Like a game." He was silent again. "The old memories are easier. The closer I get to the war. . . they get muddled."

"I think that's normal. We lose memories of traumatic events. Probably a blessing in some ways."

Bucky nodded and put his trowel down, leaning back on his heels. He appeared to have hit the point where any more fiddling would ruin it. "Steve said someone used you. Made you hurt your friends."

Clint leaned over to inspect his work. He had not discussed Loki with anyone other than Natasha in a very long time—and even back then, it had only been very reluctantly. But he supposed that he'd know it would come up, when he signed on for this. "He made me hurt a lot of people. Unfortunately, I remember it very clearly, in all its blue-tinted glory."

Bucky looked at the wall and nothing else. Lack of eye contact made everything easier. "I read my file. Steve doesn't know. I recognized some of the names. Even before they sent me after Steve."

Loki hadn't really aimed him at anyone in particular, except Fury, and then Nat. "Do you feel guilty?"

He nodded slowly. "I don't really remember doing it. But I know I did it. And I can't ever make up for it."

Clint moved to a different crack on the wall, and started his sanding. "I don't think I can make up for mine, either. To be honest, I don't try. You can't take things back. I just tried to make peace with it not being me. Not being voluntary." He glance at him. "Nat keeps a ledger in her head."

Bucky didn't respond, still contemplating his wall. Clint let the silence stretch. Slowly, the other man stood and dragged a step ladder over to work on a crack near the ceiling. "Fixing things is better than tearing them down," he said finally.

"I agree," he replied. "Works on people, too."

That earned him a sideways look and the ghost of a smile. Then they both lapsed into silence, working on their section of wall, comfortable in their own thoughts.

Eventually, Clint heard the front door slam and Nat's voice float up the stairs. ". . . sleep in the coop because you are _such_ a chicken."

"I said she was a very nice girl!" Steve sounded both exasperated and defensive.

"You should have asked her to go to town with you. There's some very nice cafes. A couple of bars. . ."

"We don't speak the same language."

"You underestimate the importance of body language."

"My body has nothing to say to her, thank you."

Bucky snorted. "Always thought he needed a little sister."

Clint laughed. "She embraces that role, I think." He shrugged. "None of us have any family. So we rely on each other." 

"Steve never had enough family. He practically lived at our house." It was said with a remarkable amount of emotion. It seemed to surprise Bucky, but whatever memory that surfaced to make him say it also made him smile.

There were feet on the stairs and when Nat spoke she was closer. "Clint! Tell Steve the importance of body lang—"

"I don't want to hear about Clint's body, thank you!"

Nat appeared at the top of the steps, grinning. "We have chickens and enough food to feed a small army or the three of you."

"Hello, yenta," he replied, leaning over as she came to give him a kiss.

"Hush." She leaned on him a moment, despite him having to hold his plaster covered hands away from her nice shirt. "I see we have a wall again."

"Told you I could save it."

"Yes. You are the home improvement guru. I think you had a ringer, though," she added, glancing up at Bucky. "How are you doing?"

"I think I like fixing things," he answered, sounding thoughtful.

Nat grinned. "Good." She kissed Clint again. "I think you've earned pie. Bucky, do you like pie?"

"Are there people who don't like pie?" This, just as thoughtful as the previous statement.

Clint began cleaning up his tools. "We will wash up, and come down for pie."

With one more kiss she headed back downstairs, humming under her breath. Bucky did one last swipe with his trowel and climbed down from his step stool to help with the clean up.

When they were done and made their way downstairs, Nat and Steve were in the kitchen, keeping up a patter of conversation while they cooked. She'd been intimidated by that stove when he'd installed it. He told her it was aspirational, and that he was a firm believe that it was easier to succeed when operating with top-notch equipment. 

Over the last couple of months, she'd begun making some very delicious things. Occasionally they were strange, but he ate them anyway. He'd noticed she was oddly tender about her cooking, like it came from some part of her that her life hadn't hardened. 

Currently, she and Steve were debating the merits of lard versus shortening in pie dough, while he pitted cherries and she put together a lasagna. Gabriele's wife had given Nat a stack of recipes a couple weeks ago and she was slowly making her way through them. Some of them were photo copies of hand written recipes, often with no proper measurements or cooking times. Still, they were mostly delicious and she had learned to make pasta from scratch, which seemed to be a big deal.

Clint looked over at Bucky, who was watching the cooking and banter but didn't seem to be seeing it. He was playing with a butter knife idly, flipping it in his hand. He hadn't asked to have any real weapons and Nat and Clint hadn't offered. His head was titled and Clint realized he was listening to the radio.

 Suddenly, he straightened. "I know this song," he said in a voice Clint hadn't heard from him before. "Steve, this was playing in that Italian brothel the night the guys and I tried to get you laid."

" _That_ you remember?" Steve asked. He was clearly aiming for exasperation, but sounded entirely too pleased.

"I had never seen you turn that particular shade of red before. It was memorable." 

"I didn't know how much I needed embarrassing Steve war stories until this very minute," Nat said, dropping ricotta onto her lasagna. "Bucky, feel free to elaborate. Uses voices, if appropriate."

"I am beginning to seriously regret putting the two of you in one room," Steve said.

"No, it's the best idea ever."

And so, while they finished cooking, Bucky regaled them with a halting, yet hilarious story of Steve in an Italian brothel. After a while, Steve even chimed in with corrections and commentary. By the time they were done, the pie was in the oven and Nat was slicing into the bubbling hot lasagna while Steve set the table. 

"There's only one way to deal with such tormentors, Steve," Clint said as he filled their wineglasses. "An embarrassing tale must be told in return."

Steve smiled at that and made a show of thinking it over as they took their seats. "Well. There was this time in London. . ."

Bucky listened as intently as Clint and Nat did, ducking his head and groaned when Steve got to the part where he got shot down. When he was done, Steve convinced Clint to get in on the story telling. Over pie he shared the tale of South Africa and the mustard explosion, which prompted Nat to throw her napkin at him.

"I'm going to have to tell them about Cairo, now," she said.

"You wouldn't dare."

"Is that the one where you wore a dress?" Steve asked.

"It was a burka, and how do you know about that?"

"I'm pretty sure all of SHIELD knows about that. Well, the original one. I don't know if Coulson has yet put it in the orientation packet for his operation."

Nat sipped her wine. "Hill has the pictures. I'm sure Skye will get them up on the website."

"This is what it was like," Bucky said suddenly. "With the commandos." He said it to Steve, half a question.

"Yes," he said quietly. "This is what it was like."

Bucky nodded and glanced away briefly, then looked back and Steve and smiled. "Thanks," he said, just as soft.

The table was silent for a moment, then Nat stood. "I think that definitely calls for pie."

*

The sun had long set, and Steve and Bucky had gone to their rooms. Nat was sitting on the foot of their bed folding laundry. Through the half open door she could see Clint in the bathroom, standing with one arm under the running shower. "I don't think it can handle four showers a day," he called to her.

"Are you saying I need to set up some sort of lottery?" she called back. "Or just kick Steve out?"

"I ordered the tankless one. They said two months but didn't seem too rushed about it." It was rural Italy. No one was rushed about anything. She really would have thought he'd be used to that by now. "Though I did tell him he shouldn't stay too long."

"I think it’s been good for Bucky to have him here. Someone to confirm what he's remembering is real. But it might be time for him to fly on his own. I don't want him depending on Steve for his identity."

"Also, the expectations of someone who wants you to be who they remember can be very oppressive." She knew he was speaking from experience, and the watching, worried eyes he'd run from had been hers. Before she could reply, he muttered, "Ah, fuck it," and got into the shower, under what she assumed was cold water.

She finished her folding and tucked everything away in drawers. She trekked downstairs to get the last load out of the dryer and met Clint at the bathroom door with a fresh towel, still warm from the machine. He wrapped it around his waist and bent to kiss her, dripping water onto her skin. "I adore you."

She smiled, stepping closer to wrap her arms around him, just above the towel. "I am pretty perfect."

He dipped his head and kissed her neck. "The kids are asleep," he whispered in her ear.

Her head tipped back to give him room. "And you are all freshly showered and delicious." He clearly took that as an invitation, and scooped her up to carry her back to the bed. She laughed when he dropped her down onto it and then stopped to quickly dry himself off. They were getting entirely too practical.

She stripped her shirt off while she waited, scooting back on the bed. "I'll just wait. It's fine."

"You'll wait, and you won't whine about damp sheets." He had a point, and watching him dry of was enjoyable. She even turned the covers back so they could get under them.

"Next time I'll just start without you," she murmured when he finally joined her. His skin was just slightly chilled from his cold shower and she shivered when her pulled her against his chest.

His hand skimmed her back. "I was unaware that was an option. Spice up our boring, married people sex."

She kissed his jaw. "Aw, baby. Have I started to bore you?" She flattened her hand over her stomach. Then, very deliberately, so he'd see the movement, she slid her hand down, into the waistband of her pajamas. She was only just starting to get wet, but the look in his eye and the touch of her own fingers sent new heat through her. 

"You could never bore me," he replied, not taking his eyes off her hand.

There was a crash out in the hallway.

Nat groaned and tipped her head forward onto his shoulder. "We should check on that."

He groaned. "Yeah. I shouldn't make jokes about kids and married people sex because I think this is what it's actually like." There was a second crash, one that rattled the walls. She could hear Steve's voice out there now. Clint got up and yanked on a pair of sweatpants.

She rolled out of bed and grabbed her shirt, tugging it back on as Clint yanked the door open. She was on his heels as they spilled out into the hall.

Steve and Bucky were both out there. Bucky was punching holes in the plaster with his cybernetic arm, seemingly in all the spots they'd patched. Steve was trying unsuccessfully to get him to stop, and when Clint went to to try and help all he got was an elbow to the face that was going to leave a shiner.

Oh, this was probably going to suck. She hooked the step stool they'd left out with a foot, lining it up. Then she took a couple steps back and ran up it, jumping at Bucky and catching his neck with her thighs, wrestling him down to the ground. Steve jumped forward and caught the metal arm before he could do her any harm. She shifted so her knee was on his windpipe and snapped, "At ease, soldier." First in English, then Russian for good measure.

The Russian seemed to be what worked, or maybe it was his sudden inability to breathe. He stopped struggling, but the eyes staring back at her were blank. Clint had caught his other arm and she trusted them enough that she eased her leg up. "Your name is Bucky Barnes," she said quietly, holding his gaze. "We're you're friends."

Confusion replaced the blank look, which she took as a good sign. Finally he asked, "Steve?"

She moved back so he could scramble forward, holding Bucky's hand instead of pinning the arm. "Hey. It's me. Welcome back."

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

Steve clapped a hand on his shoulder. "It's all right. It's fine."

Clint stepped back and Nat caught his chin to inspect his eye. "Was it a nightmare?" His eye was a little bloodshot and already starting to swell. It needed ice, and would likely be glorious.

Bucky nodded as Steve helped him sit up. "I was there. They wanted me to destroy everything."

"You need ice," she told Clint, then looked back at Bucky. He was looking at the wall with an expression of pure grief and she couldn't help but reach out and pat his hair gently. "A week after I defected I broke an agent's nose when he tried to wake me up. Setbacks happen."

Clint stepped around them, and went down the stairs without saying anything. She assumed to get ice, or to be irritated privately, which odds were good he was. Probably more about the wall than the black eye. "I'm really sorry about this, Nat," Steve said.

She mustered up a smile for him, tired and frustrated as she was. "I was not under the impression that this would be easy. He didn't do any of us lasting damage." She crouched down to talk to Bucky's bent head. "You can work in the orchard with me tomorrow, if you want. Trees are sturdier than plaster."

He nodded, and she and Steve got him up and back into his room. "Go back to bed," she told Steve, and he did so, with a very apologetic look.

Cautiously, she made her way down to the kitchen. She didn't think Clint would be too-pissed-to-speak-to-her, but it was usually a good idea to give him his space when he needed it. He was sitting at the counter, holding a bag of frozen peas to his face, poking at his phone. He glanced up at her. "We should have gotten the fridge with the ice-maker." 

"You were right," she conceded. "It would have been more useful than the adjustable height shelf." She went to stand next to him. "The boys are back in their rooms, feeling guilty. I told Bucky he could come out with me in case you didn't want to look at him."

He didn't comment on that. Instead he said, "This evening went sideways really quickly, didn't it?"

She put a hand on his arm and rubbed lightly. "Crazy cyborg houseguests can put a damper on things." She moved closer to him. "I'm sorry," she added softly.

He leaned over to kiss her temple. "Not your fault. Shit happens."

She took a moment to lean into his solid heat, enjoying, as always, how safe it made her feel. She kissed his shoulder. "I'm going to go back to bed," she murmured.

"Yeah." He got off the stool, and went around to toss the peas back in the freezer. She made a mental note not to cook with them, but had a feeling this wouldn't be the only time they'd need ice. She took his hand when he reached her and stretched up to kiss his uninjured cheek.

"When your eye doesn't hurt I'll think of some very un-boring things for us to do," she promised as they headed back upstairs.

"Eye? What eye?" He put an arm around her, but he wasn't fishing for anything. She was a little bruised herself from wrestling with Bucky.

"Ah, I forgot, you don't feel pain." They reached their room and he closed the door behind them. She took a moment to retrieve his used towel and toss it into the bathroom before joining him in bed. "Maybe we should embrace quickies in the middle of the day. At least till the kids are out of the house."

He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close, her back against his chest and their bodies fit together. "We could go hide out in the orchard."

She covered his hand with hers, relaxing into his heat. "I'm sure we could think of some errand to send them on."

"We're very smart," he mumbled into her hair, tiredness evident in his voice.

His arms tightened around her a little and she didn't answer, not wanting to roust him. She closed her eyes and went through any number of creative scenarios as she drifted to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

When Clint woke up in the morning, Nat was gone. He was a bit disappointed, he'd been hoping they could fool around before they got up. But they had guests, and she probably wanted to get breakfast started. 

One awkward breakfast, he imagined.

When he got downstairs, however, it was only Steve at the table, nursing a cup of coffee. He looked up when Clint entered. "Nat left you a plate in the oven. She and Bucky went out pretty early. Said wearing yourself out was the only cure for nightmares."

"That is the God’s-honest truth." Clint fished his breakfast out of the oven. "Don't apologize," he said when he saw open Steve’s mouth again.

His mouth closed with a snap. "She thinks I should go soon," he said quietly when Clint was sitting with his french toast and coffee. "That I'm. . . too much pressure for Bucky."

"That's probably true. The person who knows you the best can be the hardest to face. I ran from her, more than anything else."

"I just. . . last night. He could have killed one of you."

"Nat and I are pretty hard to kill." He sighed. "He wasn't hurting anyone. He wasn't even trying to hurt me when he clocked me. In hindsight, we should have just let him wail on the wall until he got it out of his system."

Steve drank his coffee, pondering that. "It seemed easy in my head. I'd find him and remind him who he was and it would all just be fixed. I thought he'd want something familiar as much as I did." He put his mug down. "I'll leave tomorrow. You guys handle him far better than I do." He glanced up at Clint. "I can help you with the wall today, if you want."

"No," Clint said firmly. "He'll fix the wall."

They eyed each other in silence a moment, then Steve nodded. "Maybe I'll run into town. Buy a tacky souvenir for Sam."

"Rome is a beautiful city." He looked up. "Give it some time. When you come back, he'll be happy to see you."

Steve nodded again, slower this time. "You guys will call me if you need anything from me?"

"I promise."

Another nod and then Steve was quiet, finishing his coffee, letting Clint eat in peace. When his drink was done, Steve got up and took the mug to the sink before heading to his room for wallet and keys. Eventually, Clint had the house to himself and the day ahead of him. The upstairs hallway depressed him, so he went to feed the chickens, and then down in the basement to poke at the water heater. He was having a damn hot shower tonight.

It was almost three hours later, he was fairly confident he had gotten the heater as fixed as it could get, when he heard foot steps on the main floor. Light and one one set of them. Natasha. He followed the sound, expecting she'd be in the kitchen making herself lunch.

She was in the kitchen, peering into the fridge with a scowl. She turned when she heard him and grinned, closing the fridge door. "Oh, thank god. I thought you'd gone with Steve wherever he'd gone off to."

"He went into the city. And then probably home. I think."

"I told him it was time. I'm glad he listened." She skirted around the island, heading towards him. She was doing her predatory prowl she sometimes did when in a particularly frisky mood. "Bucky is pruning the western grove. I told him I was coming back to make us lunch and would bring him something."

He sighed. "You don't have to exile him from the house."

She slid her arms around his neck. "I was trying to keep him busy so we could have half an hour alone. If you're not interested I can just see to myself and make some sandwiches."

He raised an eyebrow—the wrong eyebrow, as it hurt. But it did give him an idea. He slid a hand up into her hair, wrapped some of it around his hand, and gave a little tug. "You will do no such thing."

Her mouth opened in a silent 'o' of surprise and he felt her shiver against him. They hadn't gotten to play this particular game in a while, between home improvement and house guests. Based on the look on her face she'd missed it. "What would you like me to do?" she asked softly.

He watched her, considering. Then he dipped his head next to whisper in her ear, "Take everything off."

She sucked in a soft breath and for a second he thought she might protest that they were in the kitchen which had windows that faced the orchard. But she simply stepped back and pulled her shirt up and over her head. She left her bra on and bent, untying one shoe, then the other, then shimming out of her jeans. He was rather impressed that she managed to be both efficient in her disrobing and make it look like a strip tease in the champagne room at the same time.

She was watching him, her pale skin flushed. He traced the edge of her bra with one finger, but only barely touching her. "Everything."

Holding his gaze, she reached back and unhooked the bra, letting it drop on the rest of her stuff. She hooked her thumbs into the edge of her underwear and slid it down as well, stepping out of them gracefully.

He skimmed his hands over her, the same fleeting touch. Her breath picked up, and he grinned. It was really erotic how much this got to her. "Take mine off," he told her.

That order made her grin. She stepped closer and gripped the bottom of his shirt, stripping it up and off his head. He watched her hands stroke down his chest and unhook his belt and fly. Then she kneeled to unto the laces on his boots. He propped a hand on the wall to kick them off. She slid her hands up the outside of his thighs, then gripped his waistband, tugging his jeans and briefs down. He stepped out of them but she didn't stand, still kneeling at his feet, eyes dark, breath coming fast.

They had a certain rhythm to this. A certain dance. She did nothing he didn't command her to, and anything he did. "Touch me how I touched you."

She studied him a moment, gaze wandering his body. Slowly, she lifted her hands and brushed them along his thighs. They went higher, over his hips, soft and light. She stood in a smooth, controlled motion, dragging her light tough up, over his ribs and across his chest. Her finger tips ghosted over his collarbone, then down his arms. He leaned in to kiss her mouth, letting the kiss get as deep as she wanted—and she nearly devoured him. She wound her arms around his neck and he dug a hand into her hair, fisting it.

After a few moments he lifted his mouth. She tried to kiss him again and he used his grip to hold her just out of reach of his mouth. He teased her like that a few more times, kissing her roughly, then holding her off. Until she was all but panting, whimpering every time he drew her away.

That was when they heard voices at the door.

For a second they were both frozen. It sounded like Gabriele and his wife. They were remarking on the chickens. Which meant they'd be able to see them in about two seconds. He grabbed Nat by the arm and pulled her into the pantry, shutting the door just as the doorbell rang.

He pressed an ear to the door, listening to the faint patter of voices. He couldn't make out what they were saying, but a round of knocking and a second doorbell ring made him think they weren't going to give up quickly.

He glanced back at Nat to find her leaning on some of the shelves, head tipped back, eyes closed, teeth grit. She was gripping the pantry shelf with one hand, the other pressed flat to her abdomen, the was she did when she was turned on and couldn't do a damn thing about it. He was very familiar with that particular ache at this particular moment. 

To hell with their damn neighbors.

He closed the distance between them, closed his hand around her wrist, and pushed her hand lower. Her eyes sprang open and she stared at him, startled. He pushed harder, pressing her fingers down against herself. She'd told him once his demeanor changed when they played this game. That he looked at her differently, like she was someone he was hunting. She must have seen it in his face just then, because her eyes widened slightly, then darkened. He felt her fingers start to move, stroking her clit before sliding lower to thrust into herself. Her eyes never left his face. 

He nodded in approval, not wanting to make a sound. She leaned against the shelves, and when she whimpered a little he put his hand over her mouth. She swallowed audibly, but he didn't hear any more sound from her. Not even when she lifted a foot and placed it flat against the shelf behind her, knee bent, to give herself more room. He looked down between them so he could watch her hand move, palm grinding against her clit. She lifted her other hand and gripped his arm instead of the shelf, nails digging into him. It was perhaps the hottest thing he'd ever seen. More, really, then he could take. He cupped his hand over hers, so he could feel how wet she was, and so he could pull her hand away. She gave him a desperate, angry look. He wrapped her arm over his shoulder, curved his hands under her thighs and hitching her high enough he could thrust into her.

Her breath came out in a rush and she clutched at him, legs wrapping around his waist. She was tight and so wet he had to pause and breath, collecting himself before he could move. Her hips moved a little and he squeezed her leg hard enough to hurt in warning. She stilled, but he could feel her trembling. Silence was a special kind of torture for Natasha. She liked to moan and talk during sex. Tease him. Beg him. Curse him. It was a miracle how quiet she was.

He kissed her, giving her an outlet, helping her keep quiet as he started to move. Her whole body shuddered against him, nearly vibrating with her need. He kept it as slow as he could for as long as he could. It was hell on his self control, but the longer he drew her out the better it was. She gripped his shoulders tight enough to bruise, nails scratching him. Her hips started to move against his and his control started to slip.

She lifted her head, mouth red and swollen from the kiss. She arched her brows and pouted a little, question so obvious on her face she might as well have spoken, as she had a dozen times before. _Please, may I come? Please._

_Yes._ It was just a bare nod, but it was enough for her head to fall back against the shelf, and her body to squeeze around his cock. He put his hand over her mouth, and her eyes widened above it. He held her gaze for as long as he could hold on. He thrust into her roughly, in the pace and rhythm he needed to find his own release, Just before he lost it he felt her teeth sink into the meat of his palm and the clench of what must have been a second orgasm.

He sincerely had no idea how they ended up on the floor. The shelves had held, but apparently his legs hadn't. She was in his lap and he was still inside her, walls pulsing a little around him still. They were both panting like they'd sprinted a marathon and he could feel her arms trembling where they held him.

After a moment, she lifted her head and dropped dozens of little kisses all over his face. He tightened his arms around her, feeling a rush of tenderness. In the end it was an exercise in trust, and trust was the most important thing she gave him. Moments like this he was often entirely without words.

She slumped against him, boneless and utterly shattered, as she often was afterwards. Eventually he felt her shiver a little. The pantry, by definition, was usually on the chilly side. He realized he had nothing to wrap around her just as she pressed her mouth to his ear and said, as softly as possible, "Do you think they're gone?"

His ears were still ringing, to be honest. But he turned his head to listen. No, there they were, talking to each other out in the yard. Then a third voice joined. Bucky must have come back to the house. The door opened. Bucky was going to let them in.

His and Nat's clothes were all over the kitchen floor.

Nat had evidently heard it as well, because she mouthed _Fuck_ rather expressively and started glancing around the room. He wondered idly if she was searching for cover or an escape route.

He shrugged, sincerely having no idea what to do.

They could hear Bucky very clearly in the kitchen. "I don't know where—" he cut off very suddenly, and cleared his throat. Clint wondered if he'd found the clothes. "Actually, now I remember. They went into town with our other friend. He wanted to see Rome."

Nat glanced at him and arched a brow as Bucky continued to have a very casual conversation with their neighbors. 

"I'll be sure to pass on the message," he said finally, voice getting farther away. "It was nice to meet you both."

They heard the front door again. A few heartbeats later there was a tap on the pantry door. It opened a crack and Bucky's arm was thrust in, holding their clothes in his fist. Nat face heated as Clint disentangled them to he could take the clothing.

As soon as he had it the door closed with a click. Clint picked out Nat's clothes, handing them to her wordlessly. He didn't think he'd ever seen her blush that deeply before. He got dressed quickly, and leaned over to kiss her forehead. "Stay in here as long as need to. I'll go do the walk of shame."

"I'm never coming out," she muttered. "There's food in here. I'll be fine."

He shook his head, stood up, and went out into the kitchen. Bucky was making himself a sandwich. He didn't even look up. "Next time," he said, remarkably casual. "She can tell me she's coming up for a quickie. So I'm not wondering where my lunch is."

Clint rubbed the back of his neck. "I imagine it seemed. . .rude."

Bucky shrugged. "I don't remember much about the Army. But I'm pretty sure it burned the niceties out of me." He took a huge bite of sandwich. "Sorry if I embarrassed her," he said around the mouthful.

He glanced at the pantry door. He supposed she'd come out when she was ready. Nat didn't like being prodded. So instead he went around the counter to make himself a sandwich. He'd make her one, too, and maybe she'd come out for it. "Thank you for deflecting the neighbors. That would have been worse."

"Small talk is still strange for me." Bucky slid the mustard and mayo closer to him. "He wanted to talk to Nat about bees. I think. Unless my Italian is worse than I thought."

"I honestly don't know anything about the outside. I deal with the inside. We divided it up. They say marriage is about compromise." He put mayo on Nat's sandwich until it looked gross to him, and then added another dollop. She chastised him for margarine, but put so much mayo on things he always half expected her to start eating with a spoon.

Bucky was watching him with what looked like amusement. "How long have you been married?"

He put the top slice of bread on Nat's sandwich, and then put a little mustard on his. "Somewhere between two months and a year, depending on your definition." 

"You had two weddings?"

"The first one was for paperwork, and legal. We didn't take it seriously." He finished his sandwich and took a bite. "The second one we did, though it was just the two of us. And it became real somewhere in between."

Bucky nodded, taking back the sandwich supplies to make himself another one. "I can get to work on the hallway after lunch," he said quietly.

"I figured you'd get to it when you were ready." Bucky had done a great number of things he couldn't take back, and couldn't fix. Seemed a good idea to let him fix this little one that he could—no added guilt, no judgement, no letting Steve clean up after him as he'd offered that morning. "You want help?"

He seemed to ponder it a moment, then shrugged. "I wouldn't say no."

Clint nodded. He put Nat's sandwich on a plate and carried it over to the pantry, knocking on the door. There was a long pause, then the door creaked open. She was fully dressed, hair smoothed and looked, for the most part, collected. She looked at the sandwich and smiled. "Thank you."

He bent his head to kiss the top of hers. "Anytime."

She carried it over to the island and set it down, not entirely looking at Bucky. "What did Gabriele want?" she asked, completely neutral.

"Bees," he replied around a bite of food.

That got her to look up. "Seriously?" He just shrugged.

"We could start farming honey," Clint said. "It is a delicious food product. Among other things." He'd meant absolutely nothing by that, other than to bait her a little—there was nothing sexy about something that sticky. But she rewarded him with a stern look.

"I'll hike over and see what he was talking about," she said. She glanced back at Bucky.

"I'm going to work on the wall," he said before she could speak.

She nodded. "Next time you want to destroy something, there's a few citrus trees beyond hope that need to get cut down and pulled out. No rush. I can get equipment to do it the old fashioned way, but it might be a useful avenue for aggression."

He nodded, busy eating his second sandwich.

Nat ate hers in tiny bites, smiling a little when she realized how much mayo he'd put on. Silence stretched, remarkably un-awkward, until Bucky finished up, put his plate in the sink and headed upstairs to the hallway.

When he was gone, Clint went over and slid his arms around her waist. "You okay, Tash?"

She leaned into him with a sigh. "I'm fine. Sorry. I don't actually know when I got shy about sex stuff."

He kissed her shoulder. "I like the shy. Wouldn't be fun making you strip in the kitchen otherwise."

She gave him a little swat and leaned up to kiss his mouth. "It was pretty fun," she admitted.

"Are you going to blush now whenever you go in there and get flour?"

"I think I'll aim for grinning lasciviously."

He gave her a smacking kiss. She touched his black eye gingerly and he let her. "I'm going to go help Bucky with the wall." He paused. "But in case you were wondering, your little lunch surprise did, in fact, make my day."

Her smile was sweet and oddly indulgent. "I'm glad," she said. She touched his cheek lightly. "Good luck on the wall. I'll go see what Gabriele was talking about." He gave her a kiss, and headed upstairs.


	4. Chapter 4

Steve came back for dinner, loaded down with souvenirs for various people back home. After the meal he had a long talk with Bucky out on the porch. In the morning they said their goodbyes. Bucky shook his hand and endured a one-armed man-hug with stoic dignity. When Steve's car was gone Bucky took an axe out to the orchard and went to town on her dead citrus trees for a while. Surprisingly, there were no nightmares that night, which Nat considered a win.

The three of them settled into an easy rhythm after that. Bucky decided which of them to help every morning, preferring the plaster and building with Clint over the "glorified gardening" with her. She didn't know what they talked about, in their manly, stoic-sniper way that they had. But it seemed to help. By June Bucky had stabilized enough that she made it her mission to drag him out into the world in little ways, starting with making him carry her stuff at the farmer's market. He mostly scowled and didn't talk, but he couldn't hide in their house forever.

She mentioned to Clint that he should encourage Bucky to get out of the house. She didn't know what she expected Clint to do with that request—perhaps a trip to the hardware store—but she was absolutely delighted at the three days of shirtless roof tile repair that followed.

One afternoon she decided to embrace her shamelessness and dragged a porch chair out to the center of the courtyard and settled in for the show, a tall glass of lemonade in her hand. "How much longer are you going to do this? I'm thinking of selling tickets."

"Don't heckle," Clint yelled back. "This is delicate work."

"I'm not heckling, I'm admiring. Center of Western art and culture and I have two living Greek statues on my roof."

From somewhere on the roof she heard Bucky's voice. "If you need to go service her, I can wait."

Clint laughed, and the hammering started again.

She stayed out until her lemonade was done, just on principle. Then she went inside and started dinner, figuring they'd earned something elaborate for all their hard work.

She was surprisingly fond of cooking. For a woman who ate canned fruit and spaghettios, she felt she'd adapted to it rather well. She didn't think she'd ever be someone who could just rummage in the fridge and whip up a dinner party. But she could follow a recipe and have the end result be some degree of good tasting. It was a bit like prepping for an op. She lined up all her ingredients, made sure her pots and pans and cooking implements were ready to go. Then she just followed the plan and saw it through to the end.

She liked it because it was new. It didn't belong to the Widow, or even to the frightened little girl she had been before her. It was hers alone. Tasha's. And it was something she could do for Clint. And, yes, the man would eat just about anything put in front of him, it still made her feel good to know she'd made it for him. She'd read once that food was the only art that truly nourished. Nat had never created much of anything, let alone art.

She was very proud of herself when the boys came in at dusk. She had pork chops in the oven, breaded and herbed. On the stove she had sauce bubbling in one pot and creamy polenta in another while she made batter for lava cake.

"The grub at your house is top notch," Bucky commented as they washed up. 

"My wife is an excellent cook," Clint replied. She wasn't sure 'excellent' was really true, but he seemed to think so anyway.

When he'd washed his hands he came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her. She leaned back to kiss him. "See? Strut around half naked for me and I cook you fancy stuff."

"Maybe I'll just be shirtless all summer."

"I have absolutely no complaints about that at all." He reached past her to try and scoop some batter on a finger and she actually hit him with her spoon. 

He lifted his hands and stepped back. "They called today, the water heater is in. It took even longer than they said it would, but it is here. We're going to pick it up tomorrow, and possibly install it."

"He thinks you'll make him call a plumber," Bucky said helpfully.

Clint tossed him a dirty look and Nat laughed. "I like having someone to tattle on you." She lined her ramekins up and started ladling batter into them. "I will not make you call a plumber if you can promise me a long, luxurious bath tomorrow night."

"If I have to haul you buckets of water from the stove," he replied grandly. 

She handed him the empty batter bowl to lick. "Then we have an accord." He grinned at her like a kid and took the bowl away.

Everything about dinner came out perfect, and it was the sort of evening people seemed to have on television, sipping their wine and eating gourmet food. Bucky proclaimed roofing had been tiring and headed to bed early, perhaps wanting to give them their space.

"He said he'd come with me to get the water heater," Clint commented.

"It's a step," she said, swirling the remnants of her wine. "I think he's comfortable around us. It's time to push a little."

"I kind of made him a deal. He's chewing on it. He was curious to learn how to shoot a bow. I told him I'd teach him if he went with us into the city."

"He was a sniper in the war." She scraped the last bit of chocolate off her plate. "I can see why it would appeal." she smiled. "You boys gonna start bringing me things to cook?"

"I don't think the hunting here is very good. I'm not even sure it's legal—this is Europe."

"I'm fairly certain that if you killed a bunny or two no one would notice. Or care. If it was eating someones garden you might get a medal."

"Rabbit is not the tastiest food. And referring to it as a 'bunny' makes me feel slightly evil for shooting it. Like there's a little girl somewhere that's going to cry."

"You know you can starve to death eating only rabbits." She drained her wine and started gathering things to take to the sink. "I'm sure we have space for an archery range on the property somewhere. Just warn the neighbors."

He slid his arms around her waist. "I promise. Leave the dishes."

She put her glass and plate down and leaned back into his heat. "Are we going to bed early? Boring married couple that we are?"

"Yes," he said succinctly. "Roofing was tiring. I'm practically falling asleep." He had his hand under her shirt now, which made that statement sound like a lie.

"My poor darling. Would you like a back rub?"

He backed up, pulling her away from the table. "First I feel I ought to reward you for the delicious meal."

She laughed a little, moving with him easily. "I'm intrigued. Will my reward involve more shirtlessness?"'

"It will involve whatever your heart desires."

She finally turned and wrapped her arms around him. "I like the sound of that."

*

It was very rare Clint woke up first. He took that as a compliment that he'd worn her out the night before. She made a grumpy noise when he kissed the top of her head before getting up. He had chickens to deal with.

He was surprised to find Bucky just coming in the back door with a carton of eggs. "I fed them."

"Thanks." He reached for the eggs. "You want an omelet?"

"Sure. Can you cook?"

He spared him a glance as he pulled out the skillet. "Of course I can. Can you?"

Bucky blinked, taking a seat at the island. "I don't know. A little, maybe? It wasn't exactly a manly pursuit in the forties."

"Did you just always live with a woman?"

He paused and seemed to consider it for a while. Then he sort of smiled. "Women tended to . . . bring my things. After I moved out of my parents place."

That made Clint laugh. "Oh. You were _that_ guy."

"Hey, I used to be able to talk women into dating Steve when he was five foot six and scrawny. I was absolutely 'that guy.'"

He put butter in the pan, and cracked a couple eggs into a bowl. "I was that guy in the corner who didn't talk much and people secretly suspected was going to shoot up the school."

"That was less common, in my day."

"Oh," he said, whipping the eggs with some milk. "That kid was there. 'That guy' just doesn't usually notice."

The other man shrugged. "Probably true," he conceded. "Both of us ended up in the war when we grew up, though."

He poured the egg mixture in the skillet and opened the fridge to pull out some cheese. He had no idea what kind it was, Nat bought it at the market down the road. "Our cultural memory romanticizes World War II, I think. At least, I assume. Unless modern wars like the one I was in have just gotten a hundred times worse."

"I think war is always terrible. People get shot and die. Bleed out on a beach thousands of miles from nowhere. I fell off a fucking cliff. Most of my unit was captured and tortured by Nazi scientists." Bucky stood and went to the coffee maker to pour himself a cup. He must have started it before dealing with the chickens. "World War II had a real and discernible bad guy. It turns it into a fairy tale. And everyone who was actually there is dying off. It'll only get worse."

"In Iraq, I'm pretty sure _we_ were the bad guys. I can only imagine what history will do to that." He deftly flipped the omelet. It was one of his favorite food items to make; he was good at things that mostly required good hand-eye coordination to succeed.

"I don't know much about the modern wars," Bucky admitted. "Once I got to Vietnam I was too depressed to continue."

He slid one omelet onto a plate and pushed it towards him. "You never got sent to fight in any of the wars over the years?”

"I was the only successful serum experiment Hydra had." He picked up at fork and filled it with eggs. "I was too valuable to send into battle."

"Suppose I was just wondering if you and I were every staring down barrels at each other." He poured more of the egg mixture in the pan.

"If we did I don't remember it." He ate more omelet. "I doubt we'd both be sitting here if we had."

That was certainly probably true. "And now we're sitting around in the Italian countryside, fixing roofs and and installing water heaters."

Bucky actually smiled a little at that. "Life is very strange."

"There's something nice about living simple, after a life of violence." He laughed. "Though if you'd told me three years ago I'd be doing this. . ."

"I don't know. There's still something exotic and larger than life to it. Orchard in the Italian countryside. Sounds like the kind of place spies retire to."

He flipped his own omelet onto a plate, turned off the stove, and put the rest of the egg mixture in the fridge for Nat. "I guess it does. And here we are." He sat to eat him omelet. "Still coming with me to get it?"

"I said I would." He sounded both determined and defensive. "I have to go out sometime."

"Good, it's heavy as hell." He ate his omelet as quickly as possibly. "And thanks. I don't want to sleep on the couch."

Bucky smiled. "Have you ever?"

"Not alone, no." He put his fork down. "You ready?"

He downed the last of his coffee and stood. "As I'll ever be."

*

Nat heard various clunking, clanging, and cursing coming from the basement most of the day. She had no idea it was that complicated to install a water heater. She imagined it wasn't. Something had gone sideways—it was a very old house—but male pride would not let them emerge until they had conquered it.

She decided it was probably best to leave them to it and not interrupt. There came a point where Clint was uninterested in jokes or banter and based on the last string of curses that had echoed up the stairs he was now well past that point. She made lunch, put it in the fridge for them and called down that she'd be out in the trees if they needed her.

Two weeks ago, she had managed to finally touch base with Gabriele and find out what he'd come over to talk to her about. Turned out a neighbor down the road kept bees and needed to split his hives. Gabriele wanted the benefits of the bees, but was getting too old to tend them properly. So she'd agreed to share the responsibility of the hives. Said neighbor and his son were building three bee boxes on a hill overlooking both her and Gabriele's orchards. In a week or two she'd be able to add apiarist to her increasingly strange resume.

It was late afternoon when the sound of Clint's whistle reached her. He could call her phone, of course, but he seemed to like to use the whistle. This house seemed to unwind them of their modern trappings. She made her way back to the house, stopping at her fig trees to pick a few early fruit. She munched them, wondering if she was going to come home to hot water or a flood.

He and Bucky were both in the kitchen, and looked like they'd been sweeping chimneys they were so dirty. "We have hot water."

She grinned and offered them each figs. "Thank you. And congratulations on conquering the water heater."

"In celebration, we're going into the city for dinner tonight."

Her brows went up and she glanced at Bucky who gave a little half shrug, mouth full of fig. "That sounds lovely. Because I'm nice, I'll let you two fight over first shower."

Clint made a tsking sound. "Already filled the tub."

Well, if he was going to set her up. "Are you going to share because I might need pictures-"

Bucky snorted, and Clint pointed and said, "Get upstairs, woman, and enjoy your bath."

She was already heading for the stairs and called, "Yes, dear," over her shoulder as she hurried up them. The enormous, claw foot tub that she had never used was, in fact, full of steaming, rose scented water. Nat grinned. She loved her husband.

A few minutes after she sank into the water, the bathroom door opened and Clint came in wearing just his boxers. She could see the t-shirt outlined in dirt on his arms and chest. He grinned at her, and reached into the separate shower to turn the water on.

So she was going to get a show. "You have a great deal of confidence in your hot water heater."

"The point of a tankless water heater is that it can't be drained. I can fill a tub, and then take a shower." He was staring at her openly, but she didn't mind. In fact, she made a show of soaping up a wash cloth and running it over her arms.

"Such luxury. We'll get this place livable yet."

"I think I'm too filthy to climb in there with you, but it's very tempting."

She grinned. "Next time."

He shook his head, and then kicked off his boxers and got into the shower. Like him, she didn't bother to hide the fact she was watching him. She did take the time to wash and rinse out her hair and scrub the grime out from under her nails. Clint was dirty enough his shower lasted almost twice as long as normal and they ended up finishing at about the same time.

He wrapped a towel around his waist and leaned against the door to watch her dry off. Specifically, she imagined, to watch her bend over to wrap her hair. "And then there are days when I wish we didn't have houseguests."

She perched on the edge of the tub, naked save for the towel in her hair, and let him watch her rub lotion into her arms and legs. "I would feel bad for you, but I know how you enjoy anticipation."

He grinned. "That I do. Wear lingerie you don't mind being damaged."

A shiver went through her and she felt flushed. But she looked up at him and matched his cocky grin. "I have just the thing."

Clint drove them into the city. He'd put on his nicest jeans and was even wearing a button up shirt to go with her little black dress. It would almost be like a date if it wasn't for the silent assassin sitting in the back seat.  
 Actually, that wasn't entirely out of place in one of their dates.

Nat was a very deft driver, but Rome had to contain the craziest drivers on the face of the planet. It was worse than Cairo. She'd seen people drive on the sidewalks. Not to mention all the honking and yelling. She got so into it that now Clint drove, for the sake of her blood pressure, or maybe his.

He did not yell, or curse, or honk, or even gesture with his hands. He did, however, manage to park their little sports car in a spot she wasn't sure she could get a motorcycle in reliably.

Bucky grumbled as he climbed out. "That is not a real back seat. You're sitting in there on the way home." 

"We can rocheambeau for it," she offered.

He made a grunting noise that may have been agreement. She didn't quite know his non-verbal language as well as Clint's. She wondered if, once she sorted it out, she could add "Alpha male grunts" to her list of understood languages.

Clint put a hand on her back to guide her to the restaurant he'd gotten reservations for, Bucky trailing behind them. It was a nice, upper midrange bistro, with lots of mood lighting and some outdoor seating. Nat wondered if he'd scouted it while in town or asked one of the neighbors for a recommendation. They were out on the patio, led there by a maitre d' who gave her the distinct impression he thought the three of them were on a date.

"It's Rome," Clint muttered, clearly picking up the same vibe.

"He didn't seem to be judging," Nat offered, picking up her menu. "I take it as a compliment."

Bucky cleared his throat. "The world is a very different place."

"I'm sure kinky people existed in the forties. They probably just had a lot less fun."

"People were just more repressed-- and actually, I don't care at the moment. I realize we are all people who like to see the exits, and you both sat first. But of the three of us, I am the most likely to fall into some sort of panic attack and hurt someone, so one of you needs to change seats with me."

She and Clint exchanged a look and had one of those moments where they spoke entirely through facial expression. His seemed to indicate he felt she was the most well adjusted person at the table - which, Christ, what had her life become? - and therefore could handle not seeing the door better than either of them. She replied with an arched brow that protested she needed the most time to arm herself, seeing as she was in a dress and he was in normal, if nicer, clothes. His furrowed brow and faint frown reminded her she was equally deadly unarmed and it wasn't like she wouldn't notice the two of them tense up if trouble did walk in.

With a sigh, she stood up and gestured to Bucky to take her seat. He sat in it, looking both grateful and embarrassed. "Thanks."

"Being aware of your crazy is half the battle," Clint said. "Believe me, I know."

"It's good that you knew to ask," Nat agreed, resettling. "Knowing triggers makes life a hell of a lot easier."

"I'd like to, you know. Have a life." He shrugged, and looked around. "City's not so bad."

"I always liked being in cities," Nat said. "After Clint found me. I hated quiet, too much time to sink into my own thoughts and get lost. The city was distracting in a pleasant way. And I could watch other people and mimic normal behavior. It bridged the gap until I got used to not being a tool."

Clint was watching her. "I didn't know that. They were always twitchy about sending you into populations. Like you were going to start hacking your way through London or something."

She shrugged. "I wasn't really into sharing at the time."

"Well. You know the kind of place I pick when I run," he said with a smile.

"Pretty much the exact opposite," she said with her own smile. "How is it we get along so well?"

"I think it's all the witty conversation," he replied.

"The rampant fucking probably helps," Bucky commented. When they both looked at him, he said, "Too much?"

"No, you make a valid point. Unexpected, but apt."

He grinned at them. "I'm going to go find a drink at the bar. Please continue."

"Don't get lost," Nat teased as he walked away. She looked back at Clint. "I can never tell if we make him uncomfortable or just vaguely irritated."

"Being the third wheel is awkward."

"He's getting better, though. If he's making jokes and feeling awkward. That's very. . . normal."

"I remember the first time you made a joke. I nearly fell over. You were so _serious_ all the time."

She smiled. "I thought you were strange. That you didn't take anything seriously. We'd be getting shot at and you'd be joking."

"If I took everything seriously, I'd crack up."

"I think I eventually figured that out. Humor was healthier than burying it." She paused, then smiled again. "Having someone to joke _with_ helped."

He closed his hand over hers. "I remember grumbling when they made us a team. I work alone and all, much as I liked you. Fury told me I picked you, I was stuck with you. And that it was on me if you went haywire."

His hand was warm, with all his familiar calluses. It was hard to believe sometimes she'd avoided being touched. "I'm sure wherever he is he's taking credit for our matrimonial bliss."

"Did you tell him-- no, don't answer that. I know it doesn't matter. He knows everything."

"I imagine he had a copy of our marriage license before the ink was dry." She ran her thumb over his knuckles. "Still glad you picked me?"

He lifted a shoulder. "Most of the time."

She smiled. "There are easier wives, I suppose."

"I have only had the one," he replied. The waitress came over to take their food order, and Clint craned his neck. "Where did Bucky get off to?"

Nat frowned, looking around herself. "I'm not sure. I don't hear screaming and glass breaking." She looked back at Clint. "Should I go look for him?"

"At least ask him what he wants to eat." He looked up at the waitress. " _Mi dispiace_."

Nat stood and nodded at the waitress before making her way into the restaurant. She scanned the eating area, checked in the hallway to the restrooms, before heading for the bar in the back. Two steps in, she spotted Bucky, leaning against the bar, chatting up a tourist. He was even smiling a little.

She stood there for a moment, not wanting to interrupt. Apparently she stood there long enough that Clint got curious, because suddenly he was standing next to her. "I came over when I saw the girl," he murmured.

"He's smiling," she whispered back. "I think he's got her hooked."

"I'll ask him about dinner. Go back to the table." When she looked at him, he added. "A woman that looks like you will _not_ help. Trust me."

She held up her hands in surrender. "No, you're right. I'm a terrible wing woman." She gave him a wink and headed back to their table. 

It wasn't long before Clint returned. "He's good. She's American and very chatty." He sat. "They seem to be hitting it off."

"Good for him," Nat said. "Steve told me he was a ladies man when they were younger."

"Is it patronizing that I feel weirdly proud he's picking up a girl?"

"Are you kidding? I was about to send them a bottle of wine." She mimed wiping a tear away. "Our little brainwashed assassin is all grown up."

"It's probably getting on time to call Steve," he said after a moment.

The thought made her smile drop off her face. Nat had gotten used to having Bucky around. He was good company. Though being alone with Clint again would be nice. "I think you're right. We can make sure he knows he's always welcome back. But he needs to face the real world again."

"I did promise to teach him how to shoot a bow, first."

"Seems rude to kick him out before harvest," she added. "But maybe it's time to start talking about it."

The waitress came back then, and they ordered dinner and a bottle of wine. "Do you miss having people around?" he asked.

"Sometimes," she admitted. "I didn't think I'd like having him around but it grew on me. It might be nice to have other visitors. Or go visit the rest of them. Maybe for the holidays."

She could see him smile. "Another Thanksgiving at the Stark house."

Before Clint had bugged out Stark had had all of them except Thor to his house in Malibu for Thanksgiving. The men had deep fried a turkey and Nat had made something with sweet potatoes and marshmallows she's seen on Food Network the night before. It had been a really good time. One of the last they'd had before Clint had gone and she and Steve had started working together. "We could even host one. Introduce the others to farm life. Fresh eggs."

He chuckled. "Just when I thought we couldn't get more domestic."

"It's nice, though." The words came out almost a question. "We have a home. We can invite people to it."

He reached across the table and took her hand, turning it so he could lace their fingers together. "It feels normal. But I'm still not sure I have any clue how to be normal."

She squeezed his hand. "Maybe chasing normal isn't the goal. I'm okay with just being happy. No one shooting at us or leaving babies on the stoop."

"Throwing a house party is pretty far from vigilante work and running a dive bar."

"Pretty far from an abusive father and Russian brainwashing, too. But I'm happy and I feel . . . like I'm in my own skin for the first time in my life. Does that make sense?"

"Maybe you're finding the person you would have been."

"Maybe." She smiled. "When I told Steve I was going to go build a new identity this wasn't what I had in mind. But I'm glad of it."

"I like this you," he said.

"Is it because I cook? Because I can accept that as a basis for a relationship."

He looked down, looking oddly embarrassed. "I don't know. But I never see the Widow anymore."

Usually when she made some snarky reply he took it as indication she was done with serious conversation time. Apparently, this was important enough he was willing to push through. "I don't need her anymore," she said quietly. "I feel safe. I know when I go to sleep beside you that you'll be there when I wake up. I don't worry that when I go out to the orchard I'll come home to an empty house or worse, a burning building. I don't look over my shoulder anymore."

"If you'd looked more closely at that house's electrical system you wouldn't be so confident on that fire one."

She held up a hand. "Ignorance is bliss, Clint."

"I love you," he told her.

She was never going to get tired of hearing that. She leaned over to kiss him. "I love you, too."


	5. Chapter 5

Two days later, he and Bucky were out in the orchard shooting arrows. After the clearly tremendous force his mechanical arm could exert broke Clint's second-favorite compound bow, he dug out his longbow. His original one had burned in Stitch Point when they blew up his house, but he had another one made when he moved to Italy. It required such a strong pull Nat couldn't even use it.

"You know, technically, I'm right handed," Bucky said as he let an arrow fly to the target. It thunked loudly, a few inches to the left of center. Not bad for a rookie.

"You seem to be doing fine." Part of him wished he'd brought wood arrows out, so he could do something like split it. People were always impressed by that. "Did Natasha mention her house party to you?"

"She said she was going to send Steve an email about coming back." He pulled another arrow out of the quiver. "Though knowing Steve it might be next month before he reads it."

"She wants to throw a party. Invite everyone. Seemed you might welcome a warning."

Bucky paused mid draw and looked at him. "That seems out of character for her. The air out here does things to people, doesn't it?"

"A lot of what seems in character for her was programmed."

"That I can sympathize with." He let the arrow go. "Though finding out SHIELD's top assassin is, at heart, a cookie baking, bee keeping, gardener is a bit of a culture shock."

"She could still kill you with her wooden spoon, you know."

"Most Italian housewives can."

Clint laughed. "Anyway, if she's really going to do this—and I should add my acceptance is falling under 'things we do for love', because I hate people—there's a lot of work that needs doing on the house."

"Is that why we're out here shooting things?" Bucky asked, pulling out another arrow. "Or is this something manly to do while we plan our attack."

"Six of one. . ." he shrugged. "Did tell I'd teach you."

Bucky looked over at him. "And I appreciate that." He cleared his throat. "Actually, not to get Hallmark card on you, but I appreciate everything you guys have done for me."

"You? Hallmark Card?" He shot an arrow, hitting the very dead center of the target. It wasn't very far. "We're square. I got free slave labor out of it."

"It was nice working with my hands again. Maybe I'll find some place back home I can fix up."

"Going back to New York? Is that home?"

"I think so. I was there with Steve before coming here and it felt familiar, even if I didn't feel particularly sane." He put the long bow down and stretched his arms over his head. "Figure I'm saner than I was, maybe it'll still feel like that."

"I think we deserve a little peace. All of us."

"I guess if you two can find it there's hope for everyone. Even me."

It wasn't long ago he wasn't comfortable having this sort of conversation with Nat, a woman he trusted more than he trusted himself. Now he was discussing it with Bucky. Things sure did change. "Can I convince you to stick around long enough to help me get the rest of the bathrooms running? Houseguests and all."

"Sure. I'm in no hurry." He gave a faint grin. "Figured you'd be wanting to kick me out and get privacy before the rest of them descend."

Clint grinned. "We've got time."

"In that case I'll probably wait and leave with Steve after the party."

"Maybe I can get some slave labor out of him, too."

"Stark seems to like moving heavy things with his suit, too."

"Never ask favors from Stark. The complaining isn't worth it. And he's half the reason I need to get the work done. He's got a little kid and they get in to everything. Even before they can walk they get into everything. They'll unplug your TV and try to lick the socket." 

That bit of information gave Bucky pause. "Kids. I don't have much experience with kids."

"Someone left one in the alley behind our bar in Venezuela. We were stuck with it for a bit."

He tilted his head. "Trying to picture that. Failing a bit."

"It was a strange time." 

"Did it lick any sockets?"

"He sure as hell tried. Though I'm more concerned about Stark Jr. turning the blender into a robotic dog while my back it turned."

Bucky chuckled a little. "I only vaguely remember Howard, but it is remarkable how much of that personality is inherited."

Somewhere off in the distance, he heard a whistle. "I believe that's lunch calling."

With a nod, Bucky bent and start gathering up the bow and quiver. "I will miss Nat's cooking."

He felt an odd swell of pride. "You should tell her that."

Bucky glanced over at him, then gave a curt nod. "I will."

*

_September_

Nat really hadn't expected how much she enjoyed working with her bee colony. It was a hot day, despite being nearly fall, and Clint had turned the house water water off while he and Bucky were installing new toilets, so it seemed a good day not to get too dirty. Their plumbing projects tended to get out of control. 

She was just easing the first honeycomb out to check it when she heard the tires in the drive. Just a little, the hair on the back of her neck prickled. But she shook it off and walked around the house without any sort of weapon on her. In the drive, Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson were getting out of rental car.

She waved, a grin splitting her face. Sam met her halfway down the driveway and picked her up with his hug, spinning her around. "Is that a bee keeping suit?"

"It is."

"Got tired of spiders?"

"Funny. You're so funny."

"Steve told me you were out here farming olives and I had to come see it for myself."

From a second story window above her, she heard Clint yell, "Jesus, Rogers, I know they had telephones in the '40's."

"She invited us!" Steve yelled back. When he ducked back inside, Steve looked over at her. "Did we come at a bad time?"

"I don't think they're done with the toilets," she explained. "He'll be happy to see you when he's done reassembled the plumbing."

Steve shook his head. "Anybody who's been in the military knows all about the buckets."

Nat pulled her netted hat off. "Why don't you guys come inside?"

"Is there going to be buckets?" Sam asked."'Cause I'm going back to Rome if it's going to be a bucket."

"I promise there is at least one functioning toilet. Come in, are you hungry?"

When they both nodded, she turned to lead them around to the kitchen door so she could shed her beekeeper gear. She gestured at the table and went to open the fridge. Clint came down the stairs, and she noticed he was soaking wet.

"Did you know the house water valve doesn't actually turn all the water off?" He asked conversationally.

She held a beer out to him like a peace offering. "You know, Clint, they say a day when you learned something new is a day not wasted." 

He took the beer, the looked over at Steve and said, "Welcome back." He held out a hand towards Sam. "Clint Barton."

The other man grinned. "Yeah, I know who you are. Sam Wilson. Nice to meet you."

"Bucky is upstairs holding back the deluge with his metal arm while I try and find the _other_ house cut off. Feel free to go up and say hello."

"I think I'll wait till he's not busy," Steve said.

"I'll take unlikely uses for evil cybernetic arms for $400, Alex."

Nat grinned. It would be nice to spend some time with Sam. They hadn't gotten much time to bond last time. "One you’ve conquered the water come down and have a snack," she told Clint.

"Didn't we used to be superheroes?" Clint asked as he went out the back door.

"Just that one time," she called after him. Then she turned to the other two and said in her best June Cleaver voice, "Lemonade? Iced tea?" She went to the fridge to get them drinks when they replied.

"One hell of a house you've got here," Sam commented.

"Thanks. It looked a lot worse when we bought it. Clint and Bucky have been busy."

"The hot water didn't really work," Steve commented. "The last time I was here."

"That's fixed," Nat offered, filling glasses with ice and lemonade. She could hear Clint and Bucky yelling back and forth, Clint in the yard and Bucky through the bathroom window. Couldn't really make out any words, though. "We have two finished guest rooms done, not counting the one Bucky sleeps in, as well as most of the public living space. The roof is water tight now, too."

"How are the chickens?" he asked.

"Friendlier than I expected." She brought the drinks to the table along with a plate of cheese and fruit. "Our neighbor convinced me to get the bees. Next would probably be goats, but I draw the line at anything I have to milk."

"When you said you were going to find a new life, Natasha, I can't say this is what I expected."

"I'm as surprised as you," she said, sipping her lemonade. "Though it took a while to find it."

"Are you happy?"

"Yes," she said simply. There was more she could say. How she'd had to define the meaning of the word. How she'd never thought to settle anywhere, but somehow this place had changed her mind. How Clint seemed like a different person here. How she'd found parts of herself she had thought long dead or cut out. But that all seemed too dark and personal on a bright late summer afternoon over glasses of lemonade. So she stuck with simple and hoped he understood.

"You look different," he replied. "Younger, maybe."

Clint had noted the same thing, more or less. "I feel lighter," she admitted. "I walk around unarmed, even."

"So you're not training the bees to be little assassins?" Sam asked, sounding disappointed.

"No hidden agendas, no artifice of any kind. We are exactly as we seem." Which was, for her, a lifetime first. 

That got her a smile. From the top of the stairs she heard Bucky yelling that the water was finally off, and a few moments later there were boots on the stairs. He grinned when he reached the kitchen. "You again," he said to Steve. "It's like I'm being followed."

"You were easier to find this time," Steve said, standing. Bucky met him halfway across the kitchen and they embraced, Steve ignoring he fact his friend was sopping wet. There was a lot of loud, manly back slapping.

Sam glanced over at her and in unison they mouthed, "Awww."

Clint came up behind her, making her jump. He could still sneak up on her. She hadn't even heard him come back inside. "Are you making lunch?" he whispered in her ear, in a voice that sounded like he was talking about something other than lunch.

As such, it took her a minute to parse. "There's fruit and cheese on the table. Do you require a full lunch or will that hold until dinner?"

"Fruit and cheese aren't going to hold either super soldiers, I think." He kissed her hair. He was still damp and getting her back damp now, too. "For the moment I'll live."

She turned to kiss him lightly. "Why don't I show Sam and Steve where to stow their things? Then I'll get started on some sort of endless meal you big strong men can pick away at."

He gave her a smack on the ass. "You're an excellent wife."

"It's true. I am. You don't deserve me." She gave his ass a smack of her own before letting him go and turning back to their guests. "Come on, I'll show you our five star accommodations."

*

Clint had the noises his house made memorized. It was so old that it made plenty. He'd gotten used to the sound of Bucky's footsteps eventually. The man was a bit of an insomniac. Now there were more people in his house, and Clint was having trouble sleeping. There wasn't any danger—intellectually he knew that–but a lifetime of instinct was very hard to let go. 

When he woke up again just before dawn, he was pretty sure he could hear someone in the kitchen. It was probably either Sam or Steve getting some food. Their clocks were all screwed up. He did not need to go check it.

Okay. Maybe he did. But he didn't need to do it armed. Natasha would be mad at him if he was armed. A knife probably didn't count as armed. 

Of all the non-houseguest-related things he might have expected to find in his kitchen at 5AM, it wasn't Nick Fury and bunch of bloody paper towels. "What the ever-loving fuck?"

"Where the hell do you keep your first aid kit?" Fury asked. As if it was Clint's fault for not expecting him and having it out on the kitchen counter.

Clint sighed, and went to get it from the pantry. He put it on the counter, taking note of the gunshot wound on the man's shoulder. He put his hand over the top of the kit, and said, "If you brought Hydra to my house. . ."

Even through the sunglasses Clint could see the glare. "I am not a first year agent, Barton. I know how to keep a safe house safe."

"This is not a safe house. This is where Nat and I live." But he lifted his hand so Fury could open the case, then sighed a moment later. "Let me do that, you're one handed."

Fury sat back and peeled off his jacket and shirt so Clint could get a look at the wound. "I know it's where you live," he said gruffly. "Doesn't mean it's not a safe place. You've been rehabbing the Soldier here."

He should stop being surprised. Even without the SHEILD apparatus, Fury still knew everything. And still had the devil's own luck. Clean through-and-through that didn't look to have hit anything serious. "You come here to protest that?"

"Hell, if I was against rehabilitation of fucked up people half of you wouldn't have had jobs." He grit his teeth. "There was a sleeper cell near here. Buncha Hydra scientists with their hands on Centipede tech and- you probably don't want the details. I was in the neighborhood, thought I'd take 'em out before they caught wind of you. Or vice versa."

He found himself honestly _not_ wanting to know. "I appreciate you not stopping by and asking us to join you." 

"I'm not an idiot, Barton."

"No, but you do like to pull the puppet strings."

Fury glanced at him. "Figured you two had well and truly cut your strings when you bought this place and started growing olives or peaches or whatever the hell was in those trees back there. And did I see a fucking beehive on the hill?"

"Really cased the joint, didn't you? Yes, those are bees." He lifted the gauze to check if the bleeding had slowed. "And yes, we're really out."

"I figured." He was quiet a moment. "Not a lot of people in our line of work can retire to the country and grow things, Barton. I'm not going to fuck that up for you. Finish patching me up and I'll be gone."

You honestly could have knocked Clint over with a feather he was so surprised. "Really?"

"Really. What have I done to earn this reputation as an asshole? I always thought I was a fair and reasonable boss." Clint honestly couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or not.

"You're also secretive and manipulative. Greater good notwithstanding. We were all just chess pieces on your board."

The other man shrugged with his good arm. "True enough. Usually when the pieces get taken off it's to go in an unmarked grave somewhere. Is it so hard to believe I'm happy you two had a different ending?"

"You sent me on a wild goose chase in the jungle while sucking my wife into what I know you suspected to be an epic clusterfuck—the ended up turning out worse."

"I sent you as far from said clusterfuck as I could because I needed Natasha on her A game. Which she would not have been on if you and your occasionally mercurial sense of morality had been in the middle of it."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means your loyalties lie with you and your own moral code, not me or SHIELD or your country or anything else. You're the only assassin I ever met who required a thorough breakdown of _why_ you had to go after this particular bad man. I didn't know how things were going to shakes out and I didn't need you deciding it for me." He paused and Clint got the feeling he was weighing whether or not to continue. "Especially since you'd been more unpredictable since New York."

"Can't deny that." Though he might enjoy the alcohol he had to put on Fury's wound for just a second. "Though I feel compelled to add, speaking of New York, that if I was the kind of person programmed to always follow orders, you'd have gotten a bullet between the eyes in New Mexico."

"I didn't say it was a bad thing. Just occasionally inconvenient."

"You shouldn't have brought me back."

Fury glanced around the room. "It seems to have worked out for you."

"You seemed to think you could just say, 'get back to work' and it would be fine. Except when it inconvenienced you. And then there was always a jungle to strand me in."

"In my defense, I didn't know the entire organization would crumble at my feet."

"In mine, my moral code is still a hell of a lot more negotiable than Rogers'." The wound looked clean, so he pulled out the roll of gauze to bandage it.

"That can be said for most people," Fury pointed out, grimacing again as Clint bound up the wound. "I knew you were probably on your way out. After New York and Alaska. And I knew Nat would probably go with you. Her loyalties are unshakeable, in their way. For a long time I thought they were with me. Then I realized they were more split then I'd thought. She went off to find you with or without my say so. So I saw the writing on the wall and hoped to get one last good mission before you were both in the wind. I thought that would be getting the files from the ship. But it snowballed."

"She's fond of you. You should stay for breakfast."

"Not sure she's forgiven me for letting her think I was dead."

"I'm not sure I've forgiven you for that. You know how hard it is to make her cry?"

To his credit, Fury looked suitably chagrined. "I don't want to cause trouble for you here."

"You won't find it from us." He paused. "Though I should warn you, Rogers, Wilson and Barnes are here. But you know that, don't you?"

Fury just smiled in response. "Maybe I will stay for breakfast. Unless you think Barnes is going to shoot me over my oatmeal."

"I don't think that's likely. And Nat will kill me if I chase you off before she can say hello."

"I would hate to be a cause of marital discord." He shifted the injured shoulder cautiously. "You got a shirt I can borrow?"

"Yeah. Sit tight." He washed his hands—hot water seemed to be working, thank God—and then went upstairs.

Nat stirred when he slipped back in their room. Dawn light was spilling in the crack of the blinds now. "Problem?" she murmured when he started rummaging in drawers.

"We've got another houseguest, I think." Something with buttons would be less painful to get on.

She sat up at that, hair a wild halo of tangles around her head. She was letting it grow out again, which he liked, but he hadn't truly appreciated what a pain in the ass long hair was. "Who?"

Clint glanced back at her, longing for a moment just to take her back to bed and not play inn-keep. "Fury. He's downstairs in the kitchen." 

For a moment she looked delighted. She actually was very fond of the old jackass. Then her brow furrowed. "Why does he need a shirt?"

"He got shot. It's fine, I dealt with it. Clean through the muscle." 

She ran a hand over her face. "Of course." She sighed. "We are popular lately."

"You did want guests." He found a shirt, and went over to kiss her. "Come downstairs and say hi when you're ready."

Stifling a yawn, she nodded. "Be a couple minutes."

"I'll feed the chickens, get the eggs and put some coffee on."

She nodded and started to untangle herself from the sheets. "Angela-wife-of-the-bee-guy gave me a recipe for something called honey cake I wanted to try. With a full house it'll actually be worth the effort." 

"Fury's probably going to tease you about the bees. Just a warning," he called as he went out the door.

If she replied, he didn't hear it. He brought Fury the shirt and pointed him to the main floor's bathroom to clean up as best he could. Nat came down while he was dressing, Bucky on her heels. He followed Clint out to the chickens without a word as Nat started clattering pans and mixing bowls.

 When they came back in with a basket of eggs Fury had returned and Nat was fussing about his arm in a vaguely maternal way.

"I am sincerely impressed that guy's not dead," Bucky said, sounding exactly that. He shrugged when Clint looked at him. "I'm really good at killing people."

"I've never had a target come back from the dead," Clint replied. "I can see how it would be disconcerting."

"I suppose if I cared I'd feel obligated to finish the job. But Nat and Steve would be pissed at me."

"You're not the Soldier anymore."

Bucky tilted his head. "No, I'm not. And Nat tells me he's the one who shot Pierce. Maybe I should go shake his hand."

"Burying hatchets is a wonderful thing."

"That's vey fortune cookie of you," he said as Steve and Sam clattered down the stairs and said their own hellos to Fury. Now it was a regular house party.

Fury proved true to his word about not trying to recruit either him or Nat-- but that didn't extend to Sam and Steve, who were apparently still deep into it. The shop talk had started at breakfast, and by lunch it was starting to sound like a mission briefing going on in his living room. Nat had gone out to the orchard, so Clint left them to it and went upstairs to assess the habitability of the three remaining unfinished guest rooms. Seemed wrong to put a man with a gunshot wound on the couch, even if it was Fury.

Bucky showed up a little while later with the air mattress he'd slept on the first week or two and together they got a bed mostly set up. "They were starting to stress me out," he explained. "Too much military jargon."

"They haven't hit bottom yet," Clint joked, though he supposed there was a certain amount of truth in that. God knows he and Nat had.

"I can't wait to go home and start Former Assassin Contracting," Bucky added, apparently willing to embrace the more joking tone.

"You swing a mean hammer, man." He grinned. "Which could do for either type of contracting, really."

"Oh, God, I totally missed the pun."

"There's work. If you wanted to still be an assassin. Not only governments are in the killing business."

"I actually think I'd prefer to be a contractor. Fixing toilets and putting up plaster."

"You've proven to be pretty damn good at that, too."

Bucky nodded, leaning on the wall beside the doorway. "I just don't think violence suits me anymore. Too many land mines in my head."

Clint turned and looked at him for a moment, finding himself thinking about just before the bailed out of Venezuela, and the evening he'd casually decided to execute someone-- until Nat talked him out of it. "They don't ever go away."

"No, I suppose they won't," he said quietly. "Doesn't mean I should go running through them more than I need to."

"Go home, swing a hammer, find a girl. Have a life." He took one last look at the room. "Fury commented I annoyed him because I used to ask him why I was going after a given target. I don't like killing people that don't need killing. Handlers want assassins to be machines, not people. They literally tried to make you one. Once enough humanity asserts itself, it's impossible to walk it back."

"I'm pretty sure hammer, girl, and future was what I wanted when the war was over. I might be seventy years late, but—" He shrugged. "Better late than never."

"If Nat and I can raise chickens and bees, I'm sure you can figure your life out just as well."

"I sort of had the same thought."

"You want to go see if we can make that stupid back toilet work?"

His face took on a look of grim determination. "Yes. Yes I do."


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, minor editing snafu. Back on track now.

_October_

Nat was fairly certain Steve and Sam hadn't planned on staying almost a month to help harvest olives and rebuild complicated plumbing systems. But Bucky hadn't wanted to leave before harvest - something about requiring closure - and he was apparently quite persuasive when it came to Steve. Sam stuck around for the fun of it.

When the last of the fruit was in the baskets she'd sent an idle email out to the rest of them; essentially an open invitation for them to come see the mostly finished house and now active orchard. That seemed like a thing friends did. Have casual, unplanned invitations just floating out there.

Really, she should have seen the hover jet coming. Stark never did anything casual.

"I figured he'd come in the suit," Clint yelled to her over the roar of the engines landing right on their damn lawn.

"Pepper complains about windburn," she replied, covering her ears.

The craft touched ground, and after a moment the doors opened. Out came Stark, Banner, Pepper carrying a small child, and enough luggage for an entire bus tour. 

"Well, I suppose it's too late to pretend they're at the wrong house," Nat muttered, lifting a hand to wave.

"You're the one who threw a house party." 

The jet lifted back off. The noise had brought pretty much everyone else outside. "Nice digs," Stark called as they got close enough.

"Coming from you I'm not entirely sure that's a compliment," Nat called back, arms crossed over her chest. "You can't drive like a normal person?"

"Rental cars smell funny." He hugged her when he got close enough, actually picking her up off the ground. She didn't know when they'd gotten to hugging, but she was happy she was now the sort of person who hugged her friends. She had friends, not just convenient parts of a cover.

From behind them, she heard the toddler shriek, "Freedom!"

She patted the back of Stark's head affectionately. "I can't believe you reproduced. How did that seem like a good idea to you?"

"The word needs more of me, Natasha. It was my civic duty."

 She met Pepper's gaze over his shoulder. "Did your genes do any good?"

"Not that I can tell." She set her wildly squirming bundle down. "He's eighteen months old and he's hitting three year old milestones. I'm terrified." She straightened and it was fairly apparent she wasn't terrified enough to not do it a second time.

Tony finally put Nat on her feet and she went to give Pepper a hug. "Well, congratulations and my condolences, I suppose." Behind her, she heard Stark and Clint's hand slap together in a handshake.

She felt Junior yank on her pant leg, and when she looked down at him, enormous brown eyes stared back at her. "Who are you?" he demanded.

"My name is Natasha," she told him.

"You have juice?" he asked. She had to admit, an articulate sentence coming out of the mouth of a child that looked young enough to still be chewing on it's own feet was a little. . unsettling.

"I have juice," Pepper said, rummaging her her bag. Junior continued to stare at Nat expectantly with his giant eyes.

"I don't have juice," she said. "We weren't expecting you so soon. I have lemonade. Or we can make juice. I have fruit trees. You can pick your own juice."

"I make juice?" he asked, his eyes getting somehow larger. His voice indicated it might have been the most amazing and fascinating opportunity anyone had ever offered him. Of course, he a was mini-Stark. Building things was probably in his DNA.

"Yes. You can make juice." With the feeling that she was either making an enormous mistake or a friend for life, she held her hand out for him. "Come on. I'll show you which fruits are ripe and you can decide what kind of juice you would like."

His face lit up, and she could see Pepper grinning out of the corner of her eye. He eagerly took her hand. It was tiny and vaguely damp, but there was something powerful about the trust a little kid had for grown ups. She gave him a little squeeze and took him into the orchard to find some apples or late plums. She looked down at him. "Have you ever seen a pomegranate?"

"Pom-a-gran-tete," he sounded out, surprisingly close. "No."

"We'll pick some of those, too. They're delicious and not like any fruit you've ever had."

Over the next half hour they picked apples and pomegranate and Nat told him stories about the different fruit. Hades and Persephone and the Apple of Discord. Generally she wouldn't have sprung Greek mythology on a toddler, but he was fascinated, and only had to ask what a couple of words meant.

They headed back to the house with armload of fruit. She could see Clint and Stark standing on the curve of the hill by the chicken coop, watching them come towards the house. Junior took off at a run, apparently excited to see his Daddy again.

She scooped up the apples he'd dropped on the way and reached them in time to hear him excitedly explaining about pomegranates being the fruit of the underworld and poor Persephone having to stay there six months of every year.

"Greek Mythology?" Clint asked.

Stark shrugged, settling Junior on his hip. "Pepper reads him Tolkien."

"I sanitized it a little," Nat said. "The Hades one, anyway." She headed towards the house, men at her heels and dumped their harvest in the sink while she dug out her juicer. She could hear Pepper in the other room, talking, then the rumble of Steve answering. 

A houseful of people she cared about. People she trusted to see her true self, to see her home. She never would have thought it possible.

The house line began ringing behind her. She thought land lines were generally pointless, but the house had thick, ancient walls and signal was spotty in some places. Clint insisted. And there was something permanent and normal about having a real phone number.

Grabbing the handset on her way back to the sink she started water running over the apples as she answered. "Hello?"

"Is this Natasha?" asked a woman's voice. "This is Jane Foster."

Of all the people she had expected Jane Foster had not been on the list. "Jane! This is Nat, yes. Is something wrong?"

"No, no. Thor wants to go to Rome for the weekend, because you invited him stop by. He thinks we can just show up, because that's what Steve told him. I think that's rude, so I'm calling you." 

Nat found herself smiling. "Well, thank you. Yes, you're welcome to come visit. The rest of the group is already here."

There was mumbling as Jane relayed that, followed by a booming, "All of them?" from Thor, who never had much of an indoor voice.

"So we'll be seeing you soon, then?" Nat asked innocently.

"Yes," she replied, chuckling. "Can we bring anything?"

Nat scanned the kitchen, trying to think if there was anything she was low on. "Alcohol? We have a couple of bottles of wine but with everyone here it's going to go fast."

"Done." She paused. "Thor has Asgardian mead he really wants Steve to try."

Remembering Steve lamenting his inability to get drunk, she said, "I'm sure Steve will enjoy that." They said their goodbyes and she went out to the living room to tell the others the Odinsons would be joining them.

"I want Purse-phone juice!" Junior demanded. Nat noticed he had upended the bowl on the coffee table and was diligently grouping the stones by shape and color. Though she supposed she should be glad he wasn't taking apart the TV.

"Tony, do you know what he's talking about?" Pepper asked tiredly from the couch she was stretched out on. Keeping up with that kid had to be exhausting.

"Blame Natasha. She began his education in classical studies out in the orchard."

Pepper turned a rather terrifying glare on her and Nat felt the need to apologize. "Sorry. I got him." She stepped forward and scooped the toddler up. "Come on, kid. I'll show you how the juicer works. Do you want to hear more stories?"

*

Clint came downstairs from doing a count to make sure they had enough beds to find Nat in the kitchen making pomegranate juice with Mini-Stark. "Sleeping arrangements secured for ten adults and one diabolical toddler. Pepper said they brought a portable crib for him."

He turned his little head and gave Clint a glare worthy of both his parents put together. "No cage!"

"Yeah, you take that up with your parents."

He turned the glare into a sad, wide eyed pout and aimed it at Nat. "No cage?"

She looked at him a moment. "Wow. Nice one. I could teach you so much."

He stuck out his lip, and then apparently decided instead to count the pomegranate seeds Nat was liberating from the fruit. Clint dared come close enough to kiss the top of her head. "You okay?"

Her expression was a little startled when she looked at him. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"You seem to have gotten stuck with babysitting."

"Junior and I are bonding. He's my kitchen helper."

"There are fifty four seeds," the kid said solemnly.

"I'm also teaching him Greek mythology." Because that was a normal thing that people did with eighteen month olds.

"I think at that age my favorite activity was probably licking the floor."

Nat grinned and kissed his cheek. "Apparently I can handle kids when they're just small adults with lisps."

"At least no one is going to leave on our doorstep."

"Yes, we get to give this one back." She scooped up the pomegranate seeds into the juicer and turned it on, prompting Junior to cover his ears. When it was done she handed the kid a glass half full of red liquid. "There you go. Persephone juice."

He gripped it in both hands and tipped it up. Clint estimated 25% got into his mouth. The rest went everywhere else. Nat mopped him up with a dish towel. "Well, now you're going to have to spend a month in the Underworld," she said solemnly.

"They have cheerios?"

Nat opened her mouth and he arched a brow at her that he hoped expressed 'please don't break the genius child an hour after he's arrived.' Her mouth snapped shut, then she tried again. "Yes. They totally have Cheerios in the Underworld." She lifted Junior down to the ground. "Come on, let's see how many changes of clothing your mother brought."

Clint shook his head, laughed, and went to clean up the counter. Out in the living room he could hear Pepper and Stark apparently rock-paper-scissors-ing for who had to change him. Eventually Nat came back into the kitchen. "And they're having a second one," he commented.

"Some people are gluttons for punishment." She slid her arms around him, pinning him to the counter. "Like two introverts having a house party."

"You started it," he said emphatically. But he wrapped his arms around her waist. "I think you like having all these people here."

"A little," she admitted. She tucked her head under his chin and listened to his heart beat. "We have friends. Allies. People we trust in more than just a tactical way. It's. . . I never had that. I like the reminder."

"We have people," he said with a smile.

"Yes we do. And they've started to breed."

"It's good," he said after a moment. "New generations. World turning. Life going on. Etcetera."

She leaned back a little to look at him. "I suppose that is part of the appeal of the farming. That and my all access pass to fruit whenever I want it."

"I like being part of the world," he said. "And not just some shadow that moves through it."

Lifting a hand, she traced the line of his jaw lightly. "I think we found out who we are. Without the ledger and SHIELD and everything else. In the most unexpected place."

He smiled at her. He wasn't sure she'd ever looked quite as happy and relaxed as she did here. Even when sort of covered in pomegranate juice. "Maybe this is just the last stop on the trip Not a bad place to be."

Her smile was brilliant as she went up on tiptoe to kiss him. "Not bad at all."

From out in the living room, Junior shrieked, "Want a silver arm!" Apparently, he'd just noticed Bucky. Clint had no idea why, but he cracked up. Nat joined him and for a moment they stood there, laughing so hard they couldn't breathe. Then she shooed him out to entertain their guests while she cooked dinner.


	7. Chapter 7

Thor and Jane arrived in a crack of thunder and small rain shower just before the main course was served. He had, in fact, brought a case of mead for them to try. Nat thanked him for the alcohol and for watering her trees before Junior toddled over and demanded to see his hammer.

As it turned out, Asgardian mead beat out super serum. By the time Pepper got Junior down in his accursed cage upstairs, a remarkably drunk Steve and Bucky had begun singing them surprisingly ribald drinking songs from the '40's.

Nat was in his lap so they could share their own mug of the stuff. She rested her head down on his shoulder. "We throw a good party," she murmured.

He kissed her hair. "Just wait for hungover breakfast for ten."

"Good thing we have lots of eggs."

Her voice was a little funny. He thought she might actually be drunk. Which was a rare occurrence. Few people could put it away like her. She took the mug from him and had another sip before cuddling closer, rear wiggling against his lap. "I could teach them Russian songs," she murmured. Yeah, the accent was definitely slipping. This was, in fact, drunk Natasha. "But the nuance is lost in translation."

He nuzzled her ear. "Careful, we don't have much by way of privacy."

The warning didn't stop her from stroking a hand up his arm. "I know somewhere private we can go."

She was being very distracting. He tried again. "The walls are thin."

Her lips pressed against the under side of his jaw. "We can go outside the walls. Out in the trees. They'll keep our secret."

"You _are_ drunk," he said, but it wasn't a complaint. She was his wife, he could enjoy any mead-based exhibitionism she decided to think up.

"Was that a _da_? Or a _nyet_?" she murmured against his pulse.

She was losing her English. And she had her hand under his shirt. "When they go to bed," he whispered.

She grinned and nipped at his jaw. "You're very fortunate I like the anticipation, _cynpyr_."

"I am fortunate in many things when it comes to you," he replied with a grin.

Leaving her hand under his shirt she curled up into his lap, tucking her head under his. "And don't forget it." He rubbed her back, figuring he had even odds she might fall asleep before the party dispersed. But he had patience, and they had time.

They lost Banner first, then the Starks and Sam. Steve passed out quietly without anyone really noticing until he let out a very old-man snore that sent those still awake into drunken laughter. Bucky gamely hauled him over his shoulder, muttering about it being like old times. Thor carried Jane to their room not much later. Clint wondered if they realized how thin the walls could be. Maybe the orchard was a good place to be tonight.

"Are they on that crappy particleboard bed from IKEA?" Nat mumbled into his shirt, apparently being of a similar mind.

"I gave that to the Starks. They have the air mattress."

"Mmm. Well, Jane is smart. They'll figure it out." He could still hear the Russian in her voice. When he'd first found her she'd spoken fluent, if accented, English. The accent had rapidly faded as she'd begun matching her speech to his, until it had only come out when she was especially tired or injured, then even that had gone. He hadn't heard it in years. 

She shifted, stretching her legs and pointing her toes like a ballerina, before leaning back to look at him. "Well," she said. "They are asleep. But I am awake. And you are awake. Have you given my proposal some thought?"

"Something about going for a walk in the orchard?"

"It's a lovely night for it." She got to her feet relatively gracefully, then held a hand out for him to join her. He grinned and took it, standing with what felt like just a touch more creaking. If she noticed she didn't say anything, just took his hand and walked with him out the back doors into the cool night air. He snagged a blanket off the back of the couch as they walked.

"It's very peaceful out here," he said as they wandered under the trees. "I do see why you like it."

"I can think out here," she said. "Work on the trees, let my mind wander. Sort things out on my own speed." She looked up at him. "I suppose it's why you like your perches."

"Usually." He put an arm around her. "Have you sorted out anything new lately."

She tugged his arm and led him around a raised root. He supposed it made sense that she had the whole thing memorized. "Some regrets," she answered finally. "The red I'll never wipe out. The life I'll never have. Things I hadn't let myself think of before."

"We all have scars on our soul, I suppose." 

"Some deeper than others." She led him up a little hill, behind the apple trees. The foliage thinned out and he could see a sky full of stars. More than you ever saw in the city. "I think it's enough," Nat said, head tipped up. "The good I have. I can live with the regret."

"If there's anything you need or long for that I can obtain, you know I'll do it."

"Oh, I think this weekend has proven that." She stretched up to kiss him, pressing her body against the length of his body. "How can I show you my appreciation?"

He slid his arms around her. "Find me some ground with no tree roots."

She kissed the underside of his jaw, nipping his skin lightly. "A little farther. I've been clearing a spot for a bee garden."

"A bee garden? Dare I ask?"

"To encourage them to come to the orchard." She started nudging him in a particular direction. "Grow some bee friendly plants so they stay happy and healthy. Plus I get to grow some herbs."

"If only I had known where your fruit obsession would lead. . ." But he loved how happy she sounded. How proud of her orchard, and her bees.

"You know me too well. This is all just so I can have fruit all year long." They cleared the tree line and he saw a patch up turned earth, about ten feet by twenty, surrounded by flattened grass.

He found a spot to spread the blanket out. "Nobody can see us?"

She squinted back at the house. "I suppose it Bucky decided to go on the roof with a scope he could get an eyeful. But I'm betting he passed out after dumping Steve in bed. Possibly on Steve's floor." She shrugged. "Or bed. I don't judge."

"Good enough for me." He sat on the blanket. "Come here."

To his surprise, she didn't obey immediately. Instead, she stood in front of him and slowly peeled her shirt up and off. Her bra followed soon after. Her nipples tightened in the cool air and the moonlight painted her pale skin silver. She unhooked the buttons on her jeans, then finally joined him on the blanket, kneeling so she could kiss him. He sat up a little to meet her, and lifted his arms when she pulled his shirt up, breaking the kiss so she could get it over his head. They had this down to a perfectly choreographed dance.

She pressed him down onto the blanket, straddling his thighs. They kissed a few moments, hands roaming. Then he felt her unfasten his fly and slide a hand inside. Drunk Natasha was a rather aggressive Natasha. He could work with that. He tugged on her jeans. "Take these off."

She rocked very deliberately against him. "What if I want you, first?" she asked. 

His chuckle was harsh. "Well. You do seem to be in charge."

Shifting back, she lowered herself to drop a kiss on his stomach. "I haven't had a chance to play with you in a while."

He closed his eyes and leaned back on his elbows. "I'm getting a case of that mead." She chuckled against his skin and started a path down his body. Her fingers curled in his jeans and eased them down, freeing his half hard erection in the process. She kissed his hipbone, the cord of muscle in each thigh, before resettling and taking him in her mouth. He sunk his hand into her hair, giving it a little tug in appreciation.

It was no surprise she was obscenely good at this. She knew how to hold back. To slow down, distract him with a squeeze of his thigh or a sultry look through her lashes. It was maddening, intoxicating. He swore she'd stay there all night if he let her, just tormenting him, keeping him on edge.

His hand tightened instinctively and she very slowly released him with one, long lick. Like he was her personal lollipop. "Did you need something?" she murmured.

That made him grin. "Just you." She matched his grin with hers and rocked back, sitting inelegantly to take her pants off. When she straddled him this time he could feel the wet heat of her sex against his skin. She went up on her knees, notching his painfully hard cock to her entrance before sliding down. He let her take her damn time, and fought the urge to flip her onto her back. He leaned up to suck one nipple into his mouth instead.

She cupped the back of his head, holding him to her as she settled on him. He heard her whisper his name softly, just before she started to move on him. She swallowed a moan, and he murmured, "Don't be quiet," against her skin.

Her nails scraped against his scalp. "You're sure?"

He pressed her a little tighter against him. She didn't have much room to move, making it a slow, intense build. One hand slid up to tug her hair again. "Yes."

She moaned aloud this time, the sound breaking the heavy silence around them. Her hips ground against his and she moved her head a little. She smiled wickedly when he tugged in response and what little movement she could make grew rougher. His grip on her hair was decent, so he let go with his other arm, so he could wedge it between them to touch her. Whatever words she cried out at that, they weren't English.

It was entirely possible he learned every secret she had that night, but as it was all in Russian broken by moans and gasps they didn't do him much good. When he thought she was close he leaned back a little, shifting his legs so she could move a little more, could take him deeper. Her head fell back and she gave a sharp cry. He felt her tighten around his cock and watched her come apart, bathed in the white moonlight. He couldn't last much past that, but he watched her for the moment he had left, thinking he adored her, and might literally be the luckiest man on earth. Then his thoughts splintered and there was nothing but pleasure.

He let himself fall back on the blanket and she wrapped her arms around him, going with him. He held her to his chest as they lay there, panting, wrapped together under the stars in their orchard. The place they could finally call home.

After a few long minutes of silence Nat pressed a kiss to his throat. "I love you."

"I love you, too," he replied. He watched the stars a bit more. This really was home. "Something I've been thinking about. . ."

"This is going to be either extremely deep or ruin the moment entirely." She lifted her head to look at his face. "Proceed."

"This is. . . permanent. It feels permanent. We've set down roots and aren't going to just bug out. I don't know how we even would, I don't keep a go bag any more. I think it would take a week just to pack."

She was silent a moment, then smiled crookedly. "My first thought when you mentioned bugging out was panic at who would take care of my trees. So, yes, I think you're correct. This is permanent."

"Good." He paused again. "I want to get a dog."

It was her turn to pause, then she laughed a little. Not like it was funny, it was almost a resigned sound. "A dog?"

"Yes. A dog. Obviously a very smart and scary dog like a German Shepard. But I've wanted one since I was like seven years old. Never been in one place long enough."

He was pretty sure she'd have said yes anyway, but figured the 'childhood dream' angle made it particularly irresistible. Sure enough, she gave him a fond little smile and kissed him. "Yes. We can get a dog."

"I like knowing where I'll be in ten years."

"So do I," she said softly. "I like having roots. I like being able to plan for when, not if."

It was getting a little chilly, and he pulled up the edges of the blanket around them. He was quiet a long time, holding her close. "And, you know, if we can manage a while and keep the dog alive. . ."

She waited for him to finish, then arched a brow when he didn’t. "Second dog? Cat? No goats."

He held up a hand. "I'm in full agreement with the 'nothing we have to milk' decision."

"Just making sure."

He chuckled. "No, I. . ." He shrugged and blew out a breath, trying to articulate what had been knocking around in his head for a while. "I don't know. We have all this space. There are a lot of orphans in the world."

Her brows arched comically. "You want to adopt? Children?"

"Not, like, little ones." He made a face. " _No_ diapers. I don't know. I just thought I'd float it as a maybe someday idea, is all."

She blinked a few times, then looked away, out at the the turned-up earth and the orchard beyond. Finally she said, "It doesn't fill me with an immediate sense of panic." Her gaze returned to his face. "I'll think about it next time I'm in the trees."

"I'm sorry," he said. "That was moment ruining, wasn't it?"

"It wasn't. It really wasn't. It's all part of the same conversation, isn't it? Roots and permanence. Healing." She rested her head on his shoulder. "I find Junior kind of adorable," she added in a conspiratorial whisper.

"Junior scares me. I was thinking more like Bucky. But younger. And less capable of killing us."

"Any child we raise is going to be capable of killing us by puberty."

He chuckled. "Okay, yeah. I'll give you that."

"I'm not saying no," she said softly. "I'm just behind you on the contemplation."

"Hey, the best I've got is maybe we should discuss it in a couple of years. If the dog survives." 

It was her turn to chuckle. "All right. Let's call that the plan for now."

"You want to go back to bed? I'm cold."

She groaned and rolled off him. "Yes. I believe the mead and my exhibitionism are wearing off."

"Good. Let's go put on pajamas and lay on our expensive mattress like a middle aged married couple."

"Agreed." They got dressed and gathered up the blanket. Nat slid her hand into his as they walked back through the orchard to their home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short epilogue will post early next week along with information about our next story.


	8. Epilogue

_March_

Stark next gen 2.0 was born almost a month early when Pepper’s blood pressure spiked dangerously high. The baby was healthy, if small, but Pepper was sick and bed ridden. Tony looked exhausted every time Nat talked to him, though he did slowly start sounding less panicked. The baby needed care, Pepper needed care and Junior needed care and Tony was only one man. He refused to hire a nanny, because Tony Stark’s kids would not be raised by a nanny, goddammit. So, on one particularly bad day, he crouched down and asked Junior if he could go anywhere in the world where would he like to go.

And that was how Nat found herself with the world’s tiniest farming assistant during spring planting.

There wasn’t much that needed doing in the trees, mostly pruning and some root care. But her bee garden had sat fallow all winter as she got busy with other things, and she was determined to have fresh herbs in the summer

Kneeling in dirt and digging in mud gave Junior something to do. He liked the orderliness of the rows and the care that needed to be taken in transferring cuttings and seedlings. He listened intently as she told him about the different needs for the different plants. The lavender didn’t like too much fertilizer and the rosemary didn’t need too much water.

He was still two and spent most afternoons napping on a blanket in the shade of the trees. In the evenings he sat on the kitchen counters and “helped” her cook. 

Clint still wasn’t entirely sure what to do with him, plus he had his hands full training the puppy they’d gotten from a Shepard rescue society. He did drive Junior into town to roam the hardware store or get name brand groceries. Nat had informed him life with a toddler and no Cheerios was cruel and unusual punishment.

They had spent the day picking the last of the winter apples. She planned to make some apple sauce and juice with them as they were a little too tart for eating plain. Junior continued to be fascinated by the juicer.

He was plodding along beside her as she dragged the wagon full of fruit behind her. He was quiet, which was unusual, but it had been a long day and his nap had been shorter than usual. Finally, he turned to her and lifted his arms. “Up.”

Carrying him and pulling the wagon would suck, but they were halfway to the house and he continued to be adorable. So she crouched down and scooped him up, tucking him on her hip. He wrapped his chunky little arms around her neck and hung on.

“Is Mama gonna die?”

Nat closed her eyes briefly. She’d been waiting for that since he’d arrived. “No. Your mother is going to be fine.”

He seemed to process that a moment. Then, “Is my sister going to die?”

Last time she’d talked to Tony he had been holding a chubby, pink infant bundled in blankets. “No. Your sister is healthy.”

“Am I going to live here with you forever?”

Clint would probably have had a heart attack if he’d heard that one. “No. You’ll go home once your mama has some more energy.” She turned to look at him. “Why? I thought you liked it here.”

“I miss Mama.”

She shifted him higher on her hip. The house was in sight now. “Tell you what, next time I talk to your dad I’ll make sure we can see your Mama, okay?”

“‘Kay.”

When she reached the house, she found the floor covered in wet, muddy paw prints. They tracked up onto the couch and over the back. She could hear both barking and the downstairs shower running. 

"Puppy bad," Junior commented.

"Yes," she agreed, putting him down. "And now it's going to smell like wet dog in here all evening."

Clint came out from the kitchen with a sopping wet puppy under his arm. "Sorry. There was an incident."

"Do you remember when incidents used to involve getting shot at and not mud on my nice furniture?"

"Seriously. Who are we?" He leaned over to give her a kiss as he passed. "Going to try and dry him off outside."

Junior pointed at the large screen hanging on the wall. "Can I see Daddy?" The arrival of their small charge had also come with fifty thousand dollars worth of sophisticated video conferencing equipment. 

She checked the clock. It was late morning in New York. "Sure, we'll see if he's answering." She hit the button on the side of the screen and waited as it chimed to see if Tony would answer.

A moment later, his face appeared on the screen. He looked to be in desperate need of a shave, and was drinking what Nat assumed to be coffee out of a large beer stein. "Good morning, Italy."

Junior bounced excitedly. "Hi Daddy!"

"Hey, kiddo," he replied, managing a very tired looking smile. "How's farming?"

"We picked apples. 'Tasha gonna make juice'n sauce'n cider."

"Your domestic skills never cease to amaze me, Natasha," Tony said.

Dragging Junior's high chair over, she plopped him in it so he could eat dinner while talking to his father. "I've always been good at extracting things, Stark. Juice, seeds, secrets. It's all the same to me."

"I'd be interested in some of that cider." Somewhere off camera, there was a baby's wail, and Tony made a face. "Hang on."

Junior pouted when Tony moved out of sight, but brightened again when Nat brought him juice and Cheerios to snack on. She kept an eye on him as she boiled water for pasta and flashed steamed some frozen peas, which she set out to cool. She tossed some bread in the toaster and was spreading homemade jam from the market on it when Tony returned to the screen holding a little pink bundle in his arm. "Look, Paprika, there's your big brother."

"Hi baby!" Junior shrieked.

"Seriously, Stark, you did not really name your daughter 'Paprika'?" The baby's arrival had been announced to the press, but not the name. It was wonderful fuel for the gossip rags.

"Of course not, but it drives Pepper crazy and anger makes her strong. Say hi to Auntie Natasha, Saffron."

Nat shook her head, putting the toast and peas in front of Junior. "How is Pepper doing? Did you get the jam we sent?"

"We did, thank you. Her nurses are battleaxes but I snuck her some jam. She's doing good, up and about more. She actually really wants to come say hello, I just need about ten minutes to get everything situated."

Junior looked up at her with wide brown eyes. "See Mama?"

She stroked his hair back. "You need to eat your dinner and have a bath." She looked back at Tony. "Call back in half an hour? He's been worried about her."

"Half an hour. Eat your dinner, little man."

He shoved a fistful of peas into his mouth. "Yesshir," he managed around it. Tony signed off and Nat went to the patio door to whistle for Clint. A moment later he came on, the dog bounding along beside him.

Okay, she had to admit, he looked good with a dog at his side. "Tony is setting it up for Junior to talk to Pepper in half an hour. Can you either make sure he doesn't choke on dinner or start his bath going for me?"

"I'll run the bath, I'm already wet."

She kissed his cheek. "Thank you, honey."

Junior ate his dinner with excitement, and then bounced in her arms as she carried him to the bath. The tub was full, and Clint was sitting on the closed toilet lid. "Sorry about the mud."

"It's all right. It can be cleaned. And if not it's replaceable." With a toddler and a dog in the house, that had become her new mantra. She tugged Junior's shirt off and lifted him for Clint to pull down the pants and diaper. It was easier than crouching. He squealed in joy, as nothing was as wonderful for a two year old boy than being completely naked.

She plunked him in the tub and kneeled next to him to soap up his hair.

"You love Unca Clint," he said suddenly.

Nat resisted glancing back at said uncle. "Yes, I do."

"Like Daddy loves Mama."

This had to be going somewhere, but God help her as to where. "Yes."

"Why you don't have babies?"

And there is was. Tony had told her to answer him honestly, even if the questions were awkward. "I can't have any babies," she told him, since that seemed slightly simpler than the whole former assassins still figuring out life thing. "I'm broken inside." She dumped water on his head to rinse his hair. "That's why we borrow you."

"I be your baby, too," he told her solemnly.

She felt a little lump form in her throat and leaned over to kiss his forehead. "Thank you, baby." She felt Clint touch her back, and give it a little rub. Reaching back, she caught his hand with her soapy one and gave it a squeeze. Then she cleared her throat and let him go. "Come on, kid. We don't want to be late for your mama's call."

"Mama," he exclaimed, and started to try to climb out of the tub.

"You're not clean yet!"

She had to wrestle him in the tub, getting soaked in the process. and when she was trying to dry him off he slipped out of the towel and went shrieking though the house, forcing her, Clint and a barking puppy to chase after his naked little butt.

The video conference was ringing as Junior streaked into the living room. He grabbed the remote before Nat could reach him and hit the button to accept the call. His parents filled the screen, just in time to see the rest of them come running in, covered in water and soap. The dog bounded over to lick Junior's face, and he squealed in delight.

The Starks stared a moment, then Pepper covered her eyes with a hand. "I am _so sorry_ ," she said as Tony started to laugh.

"We're actually usually much more together than this," Nat said on a sigh. Clint pulled out a diaper from his pocket - Clint _always_ had diaper in his pocket lately - and Nat was able to strap it on Junior to prevent accidents.

Junior waved with both his hands. "Hi Mama! I missed you!"

"I miss you too, honey," Pepper said. She was in a bathrobe with a blanket over her lap, and looked even more exhausted than her husband.

Junior immediately started to babble about the trees and the herb garden and meeting Nat's bees. Pepper listened, smiling and leaning on Tony's arm and Clint and Nat took turns changing clothes and shoving a shirt on Junior.

The puppy climbed up onto the couch and into Clint's lap at one point. She'd warned him he really shouldn't encourage that, as it would be much less cute when he was a full grown, 60lb dog. But it was, at the moment, adorable.

"Daddy, I wanna dog. Can we have a dog?" Junior asked the screen.

Tony sighed. "Maybe when you and Nutmeg are a little older. Dogs are a big responsibility."

Hearing cliche parent things come out of Tony Stark's mouth was strange and surreal. Pepper punched him on the arm, and he shrugged. "Pick a name, then," he told her.

"You hate all my names," Pepper replied.

"Because they all sound like they belong in an old folks home. Being named Gertrude is a great way to get beat up in school."

"Gertrude was not on my list!"

Clint reached across the arm of the couch to hit the mute button on the remote. Clearly he'd read Nat's mind. If you didn't know them, you'd think the Starks' constant bickering was a sign of marriage trouble, but it was clearly their normal. Maybe it was some sort of foreplay.

"If they're arguing, she's probably well on the mend," Clint commented, looking down at Junior snuggled in Nat's lap with his thumb in his mouth.

She stroked the little boy's hair gently. "Probably. She's up and moving around now, though he said the nurses were still hovering."

Tony was waving at the screen, so Clint un-muted it. "You guys done?"

"Funny. And yes. Is he crashing?"

"Looks like it," Nat said quietly. "I think it's story time." Every night, Tony read him a story over the video conference while Junior fell asleep in Nat's lap. His father pulled an e-reader out from somewhere and started to read a story about a sleepy dragon. Hearing Tony Stark read children's stories was strange and surreal as well.

 Nat shifted Junior around so he could see his parents and supported his head as he slowly nodded off, slumping into her chest.

"That is one lucky kid," Tony commented as he put the e-book down.

"We can't thank you enough," Pepper said. "Neither of us has any family and our friends are so scattered. . ." She shrugged. "We really appreciate it."

Nat exchanged a glance with Clint. "It's our pleasure. Most of the time he's really no problem at all. And we kind of like being a safe place for people when they need it."

"Speaking of that. . ." Tony cleared his throat. "He's out, right? Good. I never told you guys this, but when JARVIS ran through Hydra's targeting algorithm, it popped up that it had targeted both Pepper and I. We examined the logic and found that it was actually targeting Junior, who hadn't even been born yet. Hydra seemed to think my genes, in and of themselves, were dangerous. I suppose they regretted not killing me when they killed my parents." 

Nat felt an immediate flare of protectiveness for the boy sleeping on her chest. She resisted the urge to wrap her arms around him. "Well, it's not like we thought they had any morals. They tried to kill Captain America."

"My point being, if something were to happen to Pepper and I, it's not out of the realm of possibility that someone might be coming for the kids next. So we'd want them to be with people who could not only take care of them, but protect them, too."

She shifted and looked at Clint again. "I presume you mean us?"

"Yes. We'd like to name you as their guardians, should we both die."

"Give us a sec," she said and Clint hit the mute button again. "What do you think?" she asked when the Starks couldn't hear them anymore.

"Nobody's better than you in close quarters combat."

She had to smile at that. "Thank you. I was thinking more what you thought about people leaving us kids in their will."

"Well, yes. But we can keep them safe, better than anyone." He looked down at Junior. "I'm willing to, if you are."

It had been what she'd expected. But it still felt very momentous. She was still processing his suggestion of adoption and the idea was becoming less scary the more she did. This idea, however, felt right, no thinking required. "Right. Hit the button." He un-muted the screen and she looked back at the Starks. "We'd be honored."

They both grinned. "Excellent" Tony said. "You'd also get a lot of money. I mean, most of it would be theirs, but there would be a nice chunk for you."

"We didn't even consider that in our decision," she assured him.

"That's why I didn't mention it before. I'll have the paperwork drawn up, and we'll bring some for you guys to sign when I come pick him up."

"Sounds good," she said. "We should get him tucked in," she added, glancing down at the now snoring toddler.

Everyone said their goodnights, and Nat carried Junior upstairs.

The end of the week, a Stark hoverjet set down on their front lawn. Pepper wasn't quite well enough to travel, so he'd come alone. He did, however, bring a large wrapped box. "It's a gift, he said, as Junior squirmed out of Nat's arms and barreled towards him.

Clint went to retrieve the box, carrying it into the house where they'd gathered up all of Junior’s things and the cider and honey that they'd set aside for Stark and the gang. Junior refused to let Tony go and Stark, for his part, seemed perfectly happy to carry him.

"Dare I ask what is in this?" Clint pulled out his knife to cut the wrapping paper and tape.

"Something your mantle desperately needs." 

Nat went over to watch as he finished the wrapping and cut the box itself open. They both peered in to see a large, brown, furry shape. Nat laughed and bounced on her toes. "Boris!"

He lifted up the mounted bear head. "I can't believe you kept this."

Tony cleared his throat. "We kept it all. Just in case one day you guys decided to come back. But it's obvious to us that you've made a real home here. So Pepper had everything packed up from both your apartments. The boxes are all in the jet. I know you had to leave with pretty much nothing, so I thought you might want your stuff now that you've settled."

They had always travelled so lightly, she'd hardly even noticed the loss. But now that she thought about it, there were things she missed. Books, mementos. Clothes. For a moment she was so touched she considered hugging him. She settled for a very sincere, "Thank you."

He smiled back. "There's always a place for you. The door is always open. Even just to visit."

"Now that we've had a full year here we have a better idea of when we can get away. Though the mutt will probably have to come."

Clint leaned over and called for the dog. "Come here, Arrow." No response, so he tried again.

Junior shrieked out, "Bubbles!" and the puppy came running.

Clint rubbed his forehead. "His name is _not_ Bubbles."

Tony snorted. "Yeah, yeah. talk to me when you've put 'Eugenia' on a birth certificate."

"That poor baby," Nat murmured. You know, Natalie is a perfectly lovely name."

"Sorry sweetheart. The deed is done, and we are done having babies."

Good Lord, she hoped so. Seemed rude to say that, though. "If she's anything like Junior I think two will be plenty."

"That's the theory." He kissed the top of his son's head. "Give Auntie Nat and Uncle Clint hugs so we can go home and see Mommy."

The boy ran over and hugged her tightly. "I miss you," he said softly.

"I'll miss you, too," she whispered, lifting him off his feet. "But we'll see you soon."

He leaned back and looked at her with his enormous eyes. "You promise?"

She cupped his face in her hands. "Oh, I've taught you so well." She kissed his forehead. "Promise. Say hi to your mama for me."

Junior hugged Clint, and the dog, and then they went outside to see all the boxes were already stacked by the door. They signed the guardianship paperwork and soon Tony and Junior had boarded the plane. The doors closed and the jet lifted up off the lawn.

Clint slid an arm around her waist and she leaned into him. "House is going to feel a little empty," she admitted.

"Yes. On the other hand, we are now free to have sex on the living room couch in the middle of the day."

"Only if you lock Bubbles up, first. There's a lot of places I don't want wet noses."

He closed his eyes. "His name. Is not. Bubbles."

"I know." She kissed his jaw. "But you're cute when you're irritated."

He turned enough to kiss her mouth. "Put the dog out, I'll hang the bear head on the wall, and then we can have our way with each other."

Probably best not to question his priorities. "You have the best ideas, Mr. Barton."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is the end of the Somewhere They Can't Find Me series. Olives and I have not ruled out the possibility of more someday, but currently we have other irons in the fire and choose to leave Clint and Nat here, in Italy, playing with their puppy and growing good things.
> 
> Fear not! Friday will begin a completely different, unrelated Clintasha story. We just can't seem to stop writing them, so we hope you'll join us for a new take on their tale.


End file.
